Think of a Name
by Simon Cooke
"What are you going to call your new puppy?" asked Dad.
"I don't know," said Robbie.
The puppy ran round and round Robbie's feet, yapping loudly.
"You could call him Yapper," said Dad.
"Come here, Yapper," called Robbie.  But the puppy ran off to lick his empty dinner bowl.
"No," said Robbie.  "He doesn't want to be called Yapper."
"What are you going to call your new puppy?" asked Robbie's older brother, Patrick, when Robbie got back from soccer practice.
"I don't know," said Robbie.
The puppy ran up to Patrick and began to bite playfully at Patrick's trouser leg.  "You could call him Jaws," said Patrick.
"Come here, Jaws," called Robbie.  But the puppy ran off to see if any food had been put in his dinner bowl.
"No," said Robbie.  "He doesn't want to be called Jaws."
"What are you going to call your new puppy?" asked Robbie's mum when she got home from work.
"I don't know," said Robbie.
The puppy was sniffing something in the corner of the room.  He had found a wonderful smell in a pile of old newspapers.
"You could call him Sniffer," said Mum.
"Come here, Sniffer," called Robbie.  But the puppy ran off to sniff at his empty dinner bowl.
"No," said Robbie.  "He doesn't want to be called Sniffer."
Robbie thought... and thought... but he still couldn't think of a name for his new puppy.
At dinner time, Robbie didn't feel like eating.  He was too busy trying to think of a name.
"Are you going to finish your food?" asked his dad.
"No," said Robbie.  "I don't feel hungry."
"Don't worry," said Dad.  "Eat what you can.  We can give the leftovers to the puppy."
After dinner, Robbie scraped the leftovers into the puppy's bowl.
"Dinner," called Robbie.  "Come and get your dinner."
There was the sound of paws pattering on the floor.
"Dinner," called Robbie again.
Robbie's puppy raced around the corner.  He went straight to his dinner bowl.
"Good puppy," said Robbie.
"Have you thought of a name for your new puppy?" asked Dad as he tucked Robbie into bed.
"Yes," said Robbie.
"What have you called your puppy?" asked Mum, poking her head round the door.
Robbie called out the puppy's name.
There was the sound of paws pattering on the floor.
Robbie called the puppy's name again.
Robbie's puppy raced into the bedroom and leapt onto Robbie's bed.
"Come here, Dinner," called Robbie.
The puppy ran up the bed into Robbie's arms.
"You like being called Dinner, don't you?" said Robbie.
Dinner licked Robbie's face.  It was his way of saying "Yes!"

Mere Makes a Cake  
by Tangihňro Fitzgerald

Mere is looking after me today while Mum and Dad go to town. 
She's making a cake, and I'm reading my book.
Mere takes her cake out of the oven.
Auč!  It's still runny in the middle, so she throws it out for the pig.
Mere decides to make another cake.
She takes it out of the oven.
Auč!   It's sunk in the middle, so she throws it out for the pig.
Mere makes another cake.
She takes it out of the oven.
Auč!  This time it's burnt, so she throws it out for the pig.
The fourth cake Mere makes isn't runny, it hasn't sunk in the middle, and it isn't burnt.  It smells great.
Mere ices it with lemon icing and cuts herself a big slice.  "Yum!" she says.
Just then Mum and Dad come in.
"How was your day?" Mum asks. 
"No problems," says Mere.
Dad strokes his beard.  
"Our pig doesn't seem to be hungry at all," he says.  "It watched me fill the food trough and just walked away."
"I wonder why?" says Mere.

The Dog and the Pukeko

A Dog had a bone stuck in his throat.  This gave him great pain.  At last he went to the Pukeko and said, "If you take this bone 
out of my throat you shall have a great reward."
The Pukeko put his head into the Dog's mouth and drew out the bone.  Then he asked for his reward.
The Dog said, "You already have your reward.  Do you not think you ought to be very thankful indeed, when, after 
having your long neck down my throat, you have got it out safe again?"

How the same story might look today.

Dog and Pukeko

  Ouch!!   

There's a bone stuck in my throat.  Please help me get it out!  

Why should I help you?
You'll get a great reward!

OK, then, where's my reward?

You've already had it – you got your head safely out of my mouth!  

Calf Judging
by Tracey Thomson
Mum and Dad were late.  Calf judging would be starting soon.
I was sure we'd win this year.  Ginger and I had practised every night, round and round the paddock.
I waited by the school gate.  How much longer would they be?  My stomach was playing leapfrog.  
"Come on," I shouted silently.
Then they were there.  Dad unloaded Ginger from the trailer.  She had blood all over her legs.
Mum hugged me.
"Sorry, Trace.  Ginger fell out the back of the trailer.  That's why we were late.  We didn't notice she'd gone, and when 
we did, we had to go back to get her."
Ginger looked awful.  She had grazes all down her hind legs.  I wanted to cry.  She looked so sore.  She just stood there, 
her head almost touching the ground.  She wouldn't even look at me.  How could we win now?
Mum helped me wash the blood off Ginger's legs.  When our group was called to enter the ring, Ginger wouldn't move.  
I pushed, I pulled, but she wouldn't move.  Dad had to help me.  I pulled and he pushed.  Finally we got Ginger into the ring, but 
still she just stood there with her head down.  
Ginger and I had practised so hard for this, and now it would all be wasted!
We waited for our turn.  What if Ginger refused to move?  The frogs in my stomach leaped higher.
"Tracey Thomson and Ginger."
"Come on, Ginger," I whispered.  "You know what to do."
I took a deep breath, walked forward, and pulled on Ginger's halter rope.  There was no sudden jolt.  Ginger was walking 
beside me!
We reached the first gate.  A lot of others had failed here.  Ginger stood still while I opened the gate.  I led her through 
and closed it behind us.
"Good girl, Ginger.  First hurdle down.  Keep it up," I whispered.
We walked around the course, weaving in and out of the markers exactly as we'd practised.  Wow, we were doing heaps 
better than I'd hoped.  Ginger hadn't put a hoof wrong.  We were in with a chance.
I could see the last gate coming up.  The final hurdle to winning.
We stopped.  I let go of Ginger to open the gate.  Ginger stayed.  So far, so good, I thought.  I walked through the gate.  
Now I had to call Ginger to me.
"Ginger."
She didn't move.
"Ginger."
She still didn't move.
"Ginger," I called for the last time.  If she didn't come this time we'd be disqualified.
She walked through the gate.  Yes!
"Good girl, Ginger," I said as I patted her head.
I let go of her halter for the last time to shut the gate behind us.  Then I felt a bump.  I turned to see Ginger right behind 
me, nudging me, not on her mark.  She wanted me to pat her again.
I knelt down and put my arms round Ginger's neck.
"Good girl, Ginger," I said.  "Brave girl!"
There'd be no winner's ribbon for us this year.  But somehow, that didn't really seem to matter.

Ants
by Ingrid Horrocks

Hamish liked honey.  He liked honey sandwiches, fresh bread with honey, and honey on hot, buttered toast.  In winter, he liked 
hot lemon drinks flavoured with honey.  In hot weather, he liked banana milkshakes flavoured with … honey. 
When the hot weather arrived, so did the ants.  
First of all, Hamish saw one ant on his big toe when he was playing soccer in the driveway.  He wiggled his foot and 
squashed the ant.
A week later, there were hundred of ants marching up the driveway.  Hamish got the garden hose and washed them all 
away.  Next day they were back.  Hamish wondered whether they were the same ants or different ones.  
One Saturday morning, Hamish was spreading strawberry jam on his toast when a big splodge of jam dropped onto the 
bench.  When he came back to make himself a sandwich for lunch, the splodge of bright red jam was black and squirming.  Lines 
of tiny black insects were streaming all over the yellow kitchen bench.  The ants were having a feast.  Hamish grabbed the tea 
towel and flicked them into the sink.
That afternoon, Hamish cut himself a slice of fresh, white bread and spread honey thickly on it.  "Yum!" he said as the 
sweetness filled his mouth.  
Then Hamish felt something crunchy between his teeth.  He looked at his slice of bread.  Four black ants were 
swimming in the golden honey.  "Yuk!" he shouted and spat into the rubbish bin.  He'd been eating ants!
He looked into the honey jar.  It was full of drowning ants.  "Yuk!" he shouted again.
Then he looked at the jar once more.  How did the ants get into the honey?  Were there any holes in the lid?  He couldn't 
see any.  Had his sister left the lid off?  He didn't think so.  
Hamish took off the lid and looked at it more closely.  There was a line of plastic winding round the inside of the lid and 
another one round the neck of the jar.  It looked like a slide.  Maybe a very clever ant could crawl in circles round and round the 
inside of the lid till it found a way into the honey jar.  Hamish imagined a whole army of ants marching round and round to attack 
his honey.  He laughed.  Ants must be much cleverer than he'd thought they were.
But the next morning, Hamish had peanut butter on his toast.

Time to Get Up
by Jennifer Beck

On cold mornings, Tara didn't like getting up.
When her mother came into her room and said "It's time to get up", Tara pretended to be asleep.
When her mother called from the kitchen "Tara, if you don't get up now you'll miss the school bus!", Tara pulled the 
blankets over her head.
When Tara could smell hot toast and porridge cooking, she finally got out of bed.
One day, Tara did miss the bus.  The school was too far away for her to walk.
Her mother was cross.  "Now I'll have to take you in the car, and I haven't had time to get myself dressed."
"Don't worry, no one will notice your dressing gown and fluffy slippers," Tara said.  "You won't have to get out of the 
car."
But not far from the school, the car began to go Thump!  Thump!  Thump!  It had a flat tyre.
"Thanks for the ride," Tara said quickly.  "I can walk to school by myself from here."
"Oh, no, Tara," said her mother.  "You can help me fix this tyre first."
Tara's mother got out of the car and took out the toolbox.
"Now help me lift out the spare wheel," she said.
When they had jacked up the car and were changing the wheel, some of Tara's friends walked past.  Tara pretended not 
to see them.
At school that day, they said to her, "We saw you and your mother in the street this morning.  Does she often wear her 
dressing gown and fluffy slippers when she goes out?"
"Today was the first time," said Tara.  "And it was also the last …"
From then on, even on cold mornings, Tara got up for school the very first time her mother called her.

It's Not My Fault!
by Bill Nagelkerke

King Lion was asleep beside the waterhole when the other animals began arguing.
"You did it!"
"No, you did!"
"You started it!"
"I didn't!"
The noise woke King Lion.  "What's going on?" he roared angrily.
Everyone took notice of King Lion.
"Elephant whacked me with his trunk!" Tsetse Fly complained.
"Only because Hippo bruised my toes," said Elephant.
"Only because Giraffe …" Hippo began.
"Stop!" said King Lion.  "I can't listen to all of you at once.  I'll find out who's to blame for 
waking me up and decide how to punish them.  You start, Tsetse Fly, but don't take long.  I'm tired."
"Well," said Tsetse Fly, "I was flying home when Elephant suddenly whacked me with his trunk 
for no reason at all.  He almost knocked me out."
King Lion yawned.  "That's terrible," he said.
"I can explain," said Elephant.
"Hurry up, then," said King Lion.
"I was having a drink from the waterhole," explained Elephant, "when Hippo rolled onto my toes 
and bruised them.  I got such a shock that I couldn't help whacking Tsetse Fly."
King Lion looked at Hippo.  "In that case …," he began.
"What I did was an accident too," cried Hippo.  "I was wallowing in the water, minding my own 
business, when Giraffe kicked me.  I rolled over to get out of her way.  I didn't know Elephant was there."
"So Giraffe started all of this," said King Lion.  "Then I decide that …"
"No, I didn't!" said Giraffe quickly.  "It was all Zebra's fault.  He nipped my leg.  I kicked, of 
course, but I didn't know Hippo was there.  I had my back to the waterhole."
"It wasn't me!" Zebra protested.  "I was eating my lunch when Warthog ran into me.  I nipped 
Giraffe because my mouth was still open."
King Lion wanted to go back to sleep.  "Warthog's to blame, so I decide …"
"I'm not!" said Warthog.  "I was out for a run when something bit me.  I forgot to look where I 
was going, and I ran into Zebra."
"Something bit you?" said King Lion.
Everyone looked at Tsetse Fly.
"Tsetse Fly, did you bite Warthog?" asked King Lion.
"I can't remember," said Tsetse Fly.  "Probably.  I'm always biting someone.  That's what tsetse 
flies do.  It's not our fault."
"It's your fault I was woken up," said King Lion.  "So I decide …"
But Tsetse Fly didn't wait to hear what King Lion had decided.  She flew up to King Lion and bit 
his tail.
King Lion roared.  He flicked his tail, hitting Warthog by mistake.  
Warthog ran.
Zebra nipped.
Giraffe kicked.
Hippo rolled.
Elephant whacked.
But Tsetse Fly got out of the way in time and flew home.
King Lion decided to find somewhere else to sleep.

Marta's New Friend
by Dina Viatos

"This is Marta," said the teacher.  "It's her first day at our school.  Marta doesn't speak English.  We'll all need to help her and 
make her feel welcome.  Marta, you can sit next to Holly."  The teacher showed Marta where to sit.  "Holly will look after you," 
she said.
Holly smiled at Marta. "It's story time now," she said.
Marta listened and looked.  She couldn't understand the words, but she liked the pictures in the book.
Marta pointed to the felt pens and paper.  "Do you want to draw?" asked Holly.
Marta drew and drew.  Pictures of dark skies and aeroplanes and bombs.  Pictures of Marta waving goodbye to her 
grandparents and friends.  Tears rolled down her face.
"Don't cry," said Holly.  "It's music time now."
The teacher played the piano.  Marta wiped away her tears.  She liked music.  The children sang.  Marta tapped her feet 
and hummed along.
Then the bell rang.  Marta wanted to go to the toilet.  But she couldn't remember which door the teacher had shown her.
Marta opened the first door she came to.  But two girls came running out the other door.  They stared at her and laughed.  
"That's the boys' toilet," they said.  "Can't you read?"  
Marta looked at the door.  There were words written on it, but she couldn't read them.  She started to cry.
Holly ran up to her.  "Don't cry," she said, and she put her arm round Marta.  "I'll show you where to go."  

"I don't want to go to school," Marta said to her mother that night.  "The other girls laughed at me.  I want my old friends."
"It's hard at first," said her mother.  "But soon you'll make new friends – you'll see."
"How, Mamma, how, if they don't understand what I say?"
"You'll find a way," said her mum.  "I know you will."

Next day, Marta found a piece of chalk and drew on the ground.  She drew lines, squares, and numbers.
"Hey!" said Holly. "That's hopscotch!  I can play that!"
"Hopscotch?" said Marta.
Holly found a flat stone and gave it to Marta.  Marta threw the stone on to the third square and began to hop.
One, two …
Just then, a jet flew over.  
"Bomba!  Bomba!" cried Marta.  She ran to hide under a bench.
"Bomber?" said Holly.  "No, it's not a bomber, it's a jet."  She was laughing.  "Come out of there – it's quite safe."
"Jet?" asked Marta.  
"Yes," said Holly.  "Jet.  Now come and play hopscotch."
Marta laughed.  "No bomba.  Jet.  Safe."
Holly smiled at her, and they played hopscotch till it was time to go back to class.

"Mamma, Mamma!" Marta yelled when her mother picked her up after school.  "I've got a new friend.  She's teaching me 
English and she understands what I say.  She's funny, too – she makes me laugh."
Her mum hugged her close.  "I'm so glad," she whispered.
Before Marta went to bed that night, she drew pictures of blue skies, hopscotch, and her new friend playing.

Feels Right, Smells Right
by John Bonallack

Brett pulled his old navy jersey out from under the bed and put it on.  He sniffed hard.  Aaah.  It felt right.  It smelt right.  Warm 
and safe – like a hug.
Mum frowned.  "I thought I told you to throw that jersey out.  You can't wear it to school.  Just look at it – I'm not 
mending those sleeves again.  It's had it, Brett.  Give it here."
"But, Mum …"
"No, Brett."  She pulled the jersey over his head.  "Now get your new green one.  And hurry up!"
The new green jersey was scratchy and unfriendly.  It didn't feel right.  It didn't smell right.  All day at school, Brett felt 
as if there was something wrong.  He couldn't wait to get home.
"Mum!  Where is it?  My old navy jersey?"
"That old thing!" said Mum.  "This new one looks much nicer on you.  And Grandma spent so long making it for you."
"Where's my other one?"
"It's gone out in the rubbish.  Really, Brett, it was just falling apart.  Go out and play – and don't get your new jersey 
dirty."
Brett looked in the recycling bag.  There it was – his old navy jersey!  He pulled it out and put it on.
Aaah – that was better!  It felt right.  It smelt right.  Brett ran next door to play.
When it was time to go home, he hid his old jersey in a dry dark place under the hedge.
Every afternoon after school that week, Brett reached into his secret hiding place.  Yes, it felt right!
He pulled out the jersey and put it on.  
Yes, it smelt right!
Except on Friday.
On Friday, when he reached into his secret hiding place, he felt … sharp prickles!  He pulled aside the branches and 
looked in.  Curled up in the dark on his old navy jersey was a hedgehog.  A hedgehog, and … one, two, three baby hedgehogs!
The mother hedgehog didn't curl into a ball.  She looked at him and blinked.  She seemed to be saying "It feels right.  It 
smells right."
Brett looked at the hedgehogs.  He thought about the warm, safe feeling the jersey gave him.  He thought about the 
warm, safe baby hedgehogs curled up on his old navy jersey.  
He rubbed his neck against the new green jersey.  It was still a bit scratchy.
But maybe not all that scratchy.


Těhei Mauriora!
by Pirihira Pňtangaroa-Waiwiri
12 March
Mum is pregnant.  The baby growing inside her is only six weeks old.
Every morning, I jump into Mum's bed to rub her back.
10 April
Today Mum and I went to the doctor.  We got some "Smokefree" stickers so no one will smoke inside our house.  We don't want 
anyone smoking near our baby.
My little sister and I help out when Mum isn't feeling too well.
15 May
Today we went to the supermarket to buy some healthy food for Mum – and for the baby too, of course!  Fruit, vegetables, milk, 
and other yummy things.
I read a book about babies that said babies can hear even when they're still in the womb.  So I've told everyone in our family not 
to swear or say bad things.  
3 August
We went to the doctor today, and we all listened to the baby's heart beating.
Every day, I hug Mum's tummy and listen carefully to the baby.  I can feel it moving inside her.
21 September
We've been busy getting things ready for our baby.  Aunty Deborah gave us a bassinet.  A friend of Mum's brought along a baby 
bath, and someone else lent us some clothes.
Mum is getting very heavy now.  It won't be long till the baby is born!
3 November
This morning, Mum's waters broke.  We knew that meant our baby was ready to be born.  
Dad drove us all to the hospital.  When we arrived, the nurses looked after Mum.
My older sister massaged Mum's back while Dad held her hand.  My little sister and I just had to wait.  It was hard watching 
Mum in pain.
Then the baby started to come out.  Its head came out first, then its shoulders, and then the rest of its body.
Dad hugged Mum.  Těhei mauriora!   We welcomed our baby into the land of light.
My younger sister cut the cord.  
And what did I do?  I cuddled our newborn baby sister.


