Bear: The adventures of a much-loved teddy bear and his young companion

By Madeleine Pizzuti

When Bear first meets baby Michael, they get off to a shaky start.

From close encounters with ceiling fans to confrontations with the slobbery dog next door, Bear's life never lacks in adventure! But through the bad times and the good, friendship grows - a strong bond not even time can break.

This is the story of a young boy and hi

• Language: English
• Publisher: Madeleine Pizzuti
• Release date: Oct 1, 2020
• ISBN: 9780648912613

Madeleine Pizzuti

Madeleine Pizzuti was born in Cambridgeshire, England and enjoyed an adventurous childhood. At the age of 18, she emigrated to Sydney, Australia, got married and successfully raised three sons.After having children, she transitioned back into the workforce as a Teacher's Aide (special needs) in the Catholic School System, later becoming a Pastoral Associate in the Catholic Church. She's always enjoyed reading and writing and Under The Weeping Willow is her third published novel.

Book preview

BEAR

HE ADVENTURES OF A MUCH-LOVED

TEDDY BEAR AND HIS YOUNG COMPANION

WRITTEN BY MADELEINE PIZZUTI

ILLUSTRATED BY MIKE BASTIN

Copyright © 2020 Madeleine Pizzuti

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without prior permission from the publisher, except educational institutions conforming with the Australian Copyright Act 1968 and giving remuneration notice to the Copyright Agency Limited (CAL) under the Act.

ISBN: 978-0-6489126-0-6 (paperback)

ISBN: 978-0-6489126-1-3 (e-book)

First published 2020

Illustrations by Mike Bastin

www.mikebastincreative.com

Book design and typesetting by

Hardshell Publishing

www.hardshellpublishing.com

For enquiries, contact:

Email: [e-mail]

www.madeleinepizzuti.co.uk

Dedicated to my grandchildren –

Michael, James, Noah, Annabelle, Alivia

and to the memory of Jonah.

Table of Contents

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

CHAPTER 1

Istill remember the day Mum and Dad brought him home from the hospital. Well, his mum and dad, of course. This tiny bundle wrapped up so neatly in a pale blue, cotton baby sheet. It seemed such a long time ago. He stared at me now with those same deep brown eyes — so familiar, yet so different. He’s a man now, I thought. Gone were those cheeky dimples and smooth, soft skin, replaced now by a beard, a few lines around the eyes, and a receding hairline. He held me for a while at arm’s length, and a smile formed across his matured face.

Mum. I see you’ve still got Bear, he shouted out from the bedroom.

"Yes, darling. We certainly have. He was such a lovely bear," came the reply.

Hey, what’s all this WAS business? I’m still here you know! I thought. I may be a little worse for wear — ‘gracefully aged’ I call it. I could probably do with a good wash too, but I’m still here. I’ve got a few stitches to patch up the scrapes we got into, and an artificial eye, but I’m still your same, beloved Bear. I’ll give her WAS!

Michael dropped me gently onto his parents’ neatly made bed.

Hmm. This makes a nice change. Better than being stuck in a dark corner at the top of the wardrobe. I wonder why he left me here, instead of putting me back where he found me. Still, I’m glad he did. I’ve spent ages up there amongst the old winter woollens and Mum’s unused knitting bag. No-one told me that it had a pair of long knitting needles in it. I soon found out though!

They were soon to move out of this house — Michael’s mum and dad. They called it downsizing. The children had all left home and most were now married and soon to have young ones of their own. Now Mum and Dad were reluctantly leaving the house that held so many precious memories of family life — the family that I had thankfully been a part of.

It was midsummer when we first met. The days were stifling and the nights were almost as bad. I had spent several weeks in the nursery, sitting on a glossy white shelf that Dad had spent a whole weekend fixing to the wall. Everything in the room was sparkling clean and brand new. It had to be for a firstborn. From the cot sheets to the chest of drawers filled with 000 and 00 sized baby clothes, we were all brand new. There I sat between a droopy-looking orange giraffe with wobbly legs, which had to be propped up every time Mum walked past, and a flat-nosed ceramic pig with a face that was enough to frighten any child. So there I was, between these two ‘odd fellows’, slowly gathering dust. Occasionally there was some disruption to the quiet nursery days, when Mum appeared at the door with a cloth in hand and wiped over the shelving and chest of drawers, making sure everything was put back neatly in its original place. This was when I would get a ruffle of the fluffy, cuddly, honey-coloured fur that covered my entire body, shaking off the dust that had collected as a result of sitting in one place for so long. That was the highlight of the many boring weeks waiting in the nursery for Michael’s arrival.

Sometimes both Mum and Dad would appear and just stand there in the doorway — Dad’s arm around Mum’s shoulders — with a happy glow on their faces as they looked around the room, silently admiring everything. Those days were still and quiet. I suppose we were all reserving energy to cope with what was to come! They call it the calm before the storm.

The day finally arrived. With the nursery door slightly ajar, I could just about hear the key turning in the front door lock, followed by …

Welcome home, Michael!

Shh! Not so loud. You’ll wake him!

And then a combination of cooing sounds that I’d never heard before. I was soon to discover that with a new baby came a new language — it was called ‘baby talk’.

Michael hadn’t long been home when I was given a new place in the nursery. What an honour that was — to be chosen out of all the soft toys on the shelf and to be given the most prestigious vantage point of all: the corner of Michael’s cot! I was humbled, to say the least. I felt as if I had been appointed guardian of this tiny bundle. It was a job that was not to be taken lightly. In fact, it was a job that would soon begin with a very loud awakening!

There I was, minding my own business, propped against the smooth, white railings of the cot, when suddenly a shrill, explosive burst of noise erupted from the tiny bundle that lay in front of me. What a shock to