The Puppy's Best Friend a personalized book with your child as the hero

Frankie had wanted a puppy for as long as Frankie could remember. Not a toy one. A real one, with a wet nose and a tail that never kept still. So on Saturday morning, Frankie and Mum drove to the animal shelter, where dogs wait for a family of their own.

The shelter carer had grey hair in a ponytail and a voice as soft as a blanket. She led them into a bright visiting room with a mat on the floor. "Sit down and keep your hands low," she said. "Let the puppy choose you."

The door opened, and in tumbled a scruffy puppy, cream with chestnut patches. One ear stood up. The other flopped over like a folded page. The puppy sniffed Mum's shoes, sniffed the mat, and then trotted straight to Frankie and licked Frankie's thumb.

"This is Pepper," said the carer. "She's four months old. A puppy needs meals at the same times every day, fresh water, lots of trips outside, gentle lessons and plenty of patience. Every single day. Even when it rains."

Frankie looked at Pepper. Pepper looked at Frankie. "I promise," Frankie said. "I promise to look after you."

That evening Pepper explored the whole house. She sniffed the sofa, found the stairs and barked at her own reflection in the oven door. Frankie put her soft round bed in the kitchen, next to a bowl of water and a knotted rope toy, and Mum stuck a picture of a clock on the fridge: breakfast, lunch, tea and supper. Puppies have small tummies, so they eat little meals often. At last Pepper curled up beside Frankie's slipper and fell asleep with a sigh.

Looking after a puppy, Frankie soon found, was harder than it looked.

On Monday it rained. Not a sprinkle, but proper rain, the kind that drums on the windows. Frankie wanted to stay under the duvet. But Pepper was whining at the back door, and puppies need to go outside often. Frankie remembered the promise, pulled up the yellow hood and clipped the lead to Pepper's mint-green harness. Mum held the big umbrella, and together they splashed along the park path. Pepper sniffed every puddle as if it were treasure. At home, Frankie dried four muddy paws with a towel, and Pepper wagged so hard that her whole body wiggled.

On Tuesday there was a crunching sound in the hall. Pepper was lying on the rug with Frankie's best blue trainer between her paws, chewing the laces into soggy string.

"Pepper! No! That's MY—" Frankie began, very loudly.

Mum knelt down. "She isn't being naughty," she said. "Her new teeth are growing, and chewing makes them feel better. Shouting will only scare her. What could she chew instead?"

Frankie thought. Then Frankie put every shoe away on the high rack, fetched the rope toy and held it out. Pepper dropped the trainer and grabbed the rope instead. Problem solved, mostly.

On Wednesday, Frankie decided to teach Pepper to sit.

"Sit!" Frankie said. Pepper wagged.

"Sit!" Frankie said again, louder. Pepper chased a leaf.

"SIT!" Frankie shouted. Pepper spun round and round after her own tail, then bounced away across the garden.

Frankie flopped down on the back step, arms folded, cheeks hot. "She doesn't listen," Frankie said. "I don't think she even likes me."

Mum sat down too. "Pepper is a baby," she said. "Babies can't learn while someone is shouting. Dogs learn from short, happy lessons: a few minutes, a tiny treat and lots of praise, then playtime. Shall we try it the puppy way?"

So Frankie tried again, quietly this time. Frankie held a tiny puppy treat in front of Pepper's nose and moved it slowly up and back. Pepper's nose followed the treat, her head tipped up, and her bottom went down on the grass.

"Good girl!" Frankie whispered, and gave her the treat. Pepper's tail thumped.

They practised for three minutes, then played tug with the rope. The next day they practised again. Soon Frankie taught "stay", one small step back at a time, and "come", calling Pepper's name in a bright, happy voice while crouching down with open arms. Every time Pepper came, there was a treat and a stroke. When she didn't, Frankie never scolded. They simply tried again later.

Frankie kept the other parts of the promise too. Breakfast, lunch, tea and supper, one level scoop each time with Mum checking, and fresh water in the bowl. Before long, Pepper sat and waited politely before her bowl went down.

When the vet said Pepper's vaccinations were finished, the family went to the big park field with the green fence, far away from the road. Pepper had never seen so much grass. She bounced and sniffed and wagged.

Then a squirrel dashed across the field.

Pepper leapt. The lead jerked, slipped out of Frankie's hand, and Pepper raced off after the squirrel, ears flapping.

Frankie's heart thumped. Frankie wanted to run after her, but remembered what they had learned. If you chase a puppy, she thinks it's a game and runs even further. So Frankie crouched down low, turned a little sideways, held out a treat and called in the happiest voice of all: "Pepper! Pepper, come!"

Pepper stopped. One ear up, one ear down, she looked back. Then she turned and galloped across the grass, straight to Frankie.

"Good girl," Frankie whispered, holding her harness gently while Mum hurried up and clipped the lead back on.

Mum hugged them both. "You stayed calm. You didn't chase. You called her the way you practised," she said. "You kept every part of your promise: the meals, the walks, the patience and the kindness."

On the way home, Pepper trotted beside Frankie on a loose lead, looking up every few steps. Everyone they passed said what a lovely puppy she was.

"She's Pepper," Frankie said proudly. "And I'm her best friend."