My Friend Winny

Kathleen H. Wurst

Description

Shy little girl Claire gets a puppy for Christmas, and with the help of her precious wiener dog, Claire has many adventures and finds her confidence.
Claire is a shy and withdrawn little girl when she receives a puppy for Christmas. Her precious brown wiener dog is named Winny, and the two become fast friends. They have many magical adventures together and are close as can be.
Soon, something amazing happens to Claire. Once so scared to be herself, Claire begins to grow confident and outgoing. She begins enjoying life to the fullest, and it’s all thanks to Winny!
Friendship is important. It just goes to show that a good friend can help you overcome obstacles and make the most of any situation.

Sujets

• Fiction Jeunesse
• Friendship
• Extroversion and introversion
• Juvenilee Fiction

Informations

• Publié par: WestBow Press
• Date de parution: 31 août 2022
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781664276277
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

Extrait

Copyright © 2022 Kathleen H. Wurst.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
WestBow Press
A Division of Thomas Nelson & Zondervan
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Bloomington, IN 47403
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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.
Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.
Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.
ISBN: 978-1-6642-7626-0 (sc)
ISBN: 978-1-6642-7627-7 (e)
Library of Congress Control Number: 2022915657
WestBow Press rev. date: 08/31/2022





1
Winter
“ Claire, you haven’t touched your breakfast, and we must get going,” Mom says on Christmas Eve morning. It’s a family tradition to take the train from our home in Connecticut to New York City and meet Dad for his office holiday party. I’m nervous about the event. There is a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach, and I have no appetite for breakfast. I don’t make friends easily and usually end up feeling like a dork at these events.
“Can I stay home this year?” I plead with my mother.
“Claire, you are eight years old. You are not going to stay home all by yourself. You will have a good time; just wait and see.”






My Mom has no idea what this feels like, because she is beautiful and outgoing. She has an art degree and works at the museum two days a week. She likes to be outdoors, hiking and biking with my older brothers, Alexander and Henry. And she enjoys her garden; the fresh flowers throughout the house are evidence of her hard work. Dad helps in the garden and enjoys fishing in the harbor. He has a funny accent, because he’s from England. He attended college in Connecticut, and that’s where he met Mom. Dad is the managing editor at a book publishing company. He’s always reading a manuscript. He’s what you would call a bookworm, because his favorite thing to do is read by the fire in his comfy leather chair or in the sunroom on a warm day. He is constantly losing his reading glasses, which are on the top of his head more often than not.
As usual, I spend most of the party sitting alone and watching my brothers laugh and talk with the other kids. A couple of Dad’s coworkers stop by and say hello to me, but none of the children speak to me. I decide that I would rather sulk than make an effort to have a good time. To cheer me up, Dad suggests we trek along Fifth Avenue to do what he calls a “loco for cocoa crawl.” We stop for hot chocolate at three of Dad’s favorite coffee shops and eventually end up in Central Park for a carriage ride. Christmas lights and sleigh bells decorate the carriage, and the two horses are wearing Santa hats. The carriage takes us past Christmas window displays. One of my favorite windows has an animated display of Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs . They are inside their cottage, looking at a Christmas tree that is decorated with acorns, pine cones, bird nests, and mushrooms. Festively wrapped gifts sit under the tree, and Christmas stockings hang on all seven bedposts. Woodland creatures peer in through the window, as snow falls all around them in the forest. I spot a piece of coal peeking out of Grumpy’s stocking, and I wonder if I will get coal because I’ve been so grumpy this year.
“Merry Christmas,” I hear Alexander and Henry shouting. I snuggle deeper into my warm covers. It can’t possibly be morning already. Last night was such a late night. I don’t even remember getting into bed. My twin brothers are three years older than I am. They are not identical, but both are tall for their age, good at sports, and dislike combing their hair. Alexander resembles Dad and me, with blond hair. Henry takes after Mom, with dark hair.





My brothers’ shouting and the scent of Mom’s homemade cinnamon rolls waft up the stairs to wake me.
“Happy Christmas, sleepy head,” Dad says as he opens my bedroom door. “Come on! Let’s get you downstairs and see what your brothers are up to.”
“Just let me sleep a little longer.” I groan.
“No way,” Dad replies. “You are not going to sleep through Christmas.”
“Claire, look at all the presents!” Henry calls out when Dad and I come downstairs.
“After presents, we are off to church for Christmas morning service, and then Grand’s house for Christmas lunch,” says Mom. “The weather is good, so we’ll take the ferry.”
“I don’t want to take the ferry,” I protest. “It’s too cold outside.”
“Stop whining,” scolds Henry. “It will be fun.”
Grand is my father’s mother; she moved here after Grandfather died. She didn’t want to be all alone in England. Grand was a famous fashion designer, and she made custom knitwear. That’s a fancy way to say that she knits really well. Last Christmas, she knit a miniature copy of our family for my dollhouse. Grand used yellow yarn for my hair and blue thread for my eyes.
“One last gift. Let me get it,” Dad says, and he heads toward the garage.
“Is it for me?” screeches Alex.
“Or me?” asks Henry.
Dad comes back into the room, holding a wiggling little, brown puppy. She has a red ribbon around her neck.
“It’s a hot dog!” bellows Alex. “How are we supposed to play fetch with a wiener dog?”
“You boys can roughhouse with each other.” Mom says. “This puppy is for Claire.”
“Is she really mine?” I ask, surprised.
“Yes, and you must take good care of her,” Dad cautions. “Her name is Edwina, which means rich friend.”
“I will call her Winny for short,” I declare.
“I will call her Ed-wiener,” teases Alex. He and Henry roar with laughter.
“Winny will be your very special friend,” Mom whispers. She kisses the top of my head.