It wasn’t cold but the puppies needed to be kept warm so Maggie made them a hot water bottle and dug out some old newspapers to put down.

‘They need the fire on and something cosy like a blanket to lie on – not that,’ said Tom, hugging the crate protectively.

‘They’re hours old, Tom. I thought a warm hot water bottle might be a bit more like being near their mother.’

‘Okay. But newspaper.’ He wrinkled his nose.

‘All they’re going to do is wee and poo and they’re not doing it all over any blanket of mine. That old jumper of Savage’s will do fine. Let’s have a look at them.’

Tom gingerly handed over the crate. The puppies were like miniature versions of Rusty and Mac – one red merle and one black and white, both with pink noses. ‘I bet Savage is sorry to have lost the others. They fetch a pretty penny these do.’

‘How much?’ asked Tom, going almost nose to nose with them.

‘About a thousand pounds a pop I think.’

‘Wow.’ Tom whistled through his teeth and his shoulders dropped. Maggie had feared he’d been harbouring thoughts of having one. What boy doesn’t want a dog of his own?

‘Dogs are a huge responsibility and a tie. Food and vet’s bills are expensive. And you can’t leave them for hours on end. They’re a pack animal and they need other dogs or people. They need training and a border collie has to be kept busy and active. They’re super intelligent and want a lot of exercise.’ Maggie feared Tom’s shoulders were drooping further. ‘Still, they’re your responsibility for the next twenty-four hours.’ She handed back the crate.

‘What? You’re helping though? Right?’

‘It’s Saturday tomorrow; you’ve no school. I’m sure you’ll be fine,’ said Maggie. ‘I’ll get the dinner on.’

*

Tom ate his meal on a tray in the sitting room watching the puppies. He was nothing if not dedicated. Maggie saw it as a good opportunity for Tom. She was on hand if there were any issues but having responsibility for something so dependent would likely do him good. He followed the formula instructions meticulously, drew up the required amount into the syringe and promptly squirted half of it over the first pup.

‘Crap!’ said Tom. Maggie stifled a chuckle.

‘You need to hold the puppy still.’

‘He’s too wriggly,’ said Tom, trying to balance the puppy on his knee.

‘Here,’ said Maggie taking the syringe and refilling it. ‘You hold the puppy and I’ll show you how to gently squeeze the syringe.’

Tom cupped the black and white wriggling creature carefully in his hands, his face full of awe as it fed. Tom swapped him for the other one after settling the first back in the jumper. ‘I’ll hold her. You do the feeding, this time,’ instructed Maggie.