Free Paw Prints in the Snow by Sally Grindley Page A

school.’
    When they arrived back home, Joe ran into the house, where Foggy, their schnauzer, rushed to greet him.
    ‘Hey, Dad!’ he called. ‘Mum says we’re going to Russia!’
    ‘Does she indeed?’ Peter Brook replied from the kitchen, where he was stirring a large pot of chilli beef. ‘Just when I was thinking what a good idea it would be if there were the equivalent of boarding kennels for children for when their parents go away.’
    ‘Only for annoying little nine-year-old boys.’ A voice piped up from the next room. ‘Not for beautiful, intelligent daughters.’ Joe’s thirteen-year-old sister, Aesha, followed him into the kitchen. ‘I think that’s a great idea,’ she said. ‘Boys could be left there until they’re house-trained.’
    ‘You’re a fine one to talk about house-training, young lady,’ said Binti. ‘Your room’s like a pigsty.’
    ‘It’s lived in, that’s all.’ Aesha pouted.
    ‘You’ll be living out if it gets much worse,’ Binti replied.
    ‘At least my room hasn’t got piles of smelly socks and pants and soggy biscuits and crisps all over the floor,’ said Aesha.
    ‘It’s got piles of clothes and shoes and lipsticks and photos instead.’ Joe snorted.
    ‘I rest my case,’ said Peter. ‘It would be far more peaceful for your mother and I if we went to Russia on our own. I’ll speak to the doggery and see if they’ve got a spare compound.’

Chapter 2
    Joe said his goodbyes to Foggy at Waggy Tails Boarding Kennels.
    ‘Poor Foggy,’ he bemoaned. ‘He’ll be lonely.’
    ‘He’ll be spoilt rotten,’ said Binti.
    ‘It seems cruel to go away and leave him,’ said Joe.
    ‘What, in a five-star boarding kennel in the lap of luxury? While we freeze our socks off, he’ll be toasting his paws in front of that great log fire. I’m tempted to stay here myself,’ Peter teased.
    ‘Talking of which, I hope we’ve got enough warm clothes with us,’ said Binti as Peter herded them back into the car.
    ‘I’ll look like a massive beluga whale in that coat you bought me,’ grumbled Aesha. ‘And I refuse to wear that silly hat.’
    ‘I’ll eat my hat if you manage not to wear yours!’ chuckled Peter as he turned on the ignition.
    ‘Don’t encourage her!’ Binti chided.
    ‘Don’t wear it, Aesha!’ shrieked Joe. ‘You’ll look more ridiculous than usual if you do.’
    ‘Ha, funny, ha.’ Aesha scowled.
    Peter began to sing the lyrics from Winter Wonderland , adopting a deep, bass voice that they all tried to copy, chins pulled into their necks, their expressions like a bulldog’s, until Joe began to splutter from the effort. Aesha, blushing, adopted a sophisticated pose on spotting a group of boys in a car that was overtaking them.
    ‘Why did they change the name of Siberian tigers to Amur tigers?’ she asked, though she already knew the answer.
    ‘Amur is more accurate, since that’s the part of Russia where they’re found,’ Binti replied.
    ‘It’s funny how some tigers live in really hot places, like India, and others live in really cold places,’ remarked Joe.
    ‘But that’s just like people,’ said Aesha rather scornfully.
    ‘People can wear different clothes depending on the weather,’ Joe persisted. ‘Tigers have fur coats wherever they live.’
    ‘They’d look funny if they were bald,’ chipped in Peter.
    ‘Like you, Dad,’ chuckled Aesha.
    ‘Joe’s making a good point,’ said Binti. ‘We would wear fur in the cold, but not in the heat.’
    ‘ We wouldn’t wear fur at all,’ said Aesha, ‘unless it was fake.’
    ‘So tigers in India probably have very sweaty armpits,’ observed Peter. ‘Or should that be leg-pits?’
    ‘In fact,’ said Binti, ‘Amur tigers have thicker coats than Indian tigers, as well as a fold of fat running along their bellies to help keep them warm.’
    ‘Is that why Dad’s got a fold of fat running along his belly?’ chortled Joe.
    ‘I have not!’ Peter protested. ‘Bald I might be, but