Everyone told Jasmine that Blossom had had a good life, that she had been very lucky to be loved so much, and that her death was quick and painless. But none of that consoled Jasmine in the slightest. Blossom would have lived for many more years, she was sure, if that horrible fox hadn’t killed her. And of course she had suffered.

Whenever Jasmine thought of the terror poor Blossom must have felt when that fox sank its snarling teeth into her and carried her off across the field, she started sobbing all over again.

Her only comfort was her animals. She spent hours every day cuddling the guinea pigs and training Truffle. And Truffle was a very quick learner. After a week of daily training, Jasmine could shut her in the kennel while she hid the guinea pigs’ tennis ball anywhere in the orchard. Then she would let Truffle out and on the command “Find it!” she could sniff out the ball wherever Jasmine had hidden it.

She took her for walks across the field and up the farm road, too, with Bracken’s old collar and leash. Truffle trotted along with her just like an obedient dog, and she was a very good listener. One day, they walked up to the woods behind the farm and cut sprigs of holly to decorate the living room.

“Aren’t they beautiful, Truffle,” said Jasmine as she arranged holly sprigs in a jam jar to put on Blossom’s grave, “with those shiny dark leaves and scarlet berries?”

“What would you like for Christmas?” Mom and Dad kept asking her. And Jasmine always gave the same answer.

“I want to keep Truffle.”

Her parents would raise their eyebrows, and Mom would take a deep breath and say, “I know you do, Jasmine. But since that isn’t possible, what else would you like?”

To keep her parents happy, Jasmine suggested a few little things. But really, the only thing she wanted was to keep her pig.

As it drew closer and closer to Christmas, though, Jasmine couldn’t help getting excited. She helped Mom bake mince pies and she helped Dad decorate the hall and living room, and the house started to feel very Christmassy indeed.

And finally it was Christmas Eve, and time to do the one thing they always saved for last. Right after breakfast, Jasmine, Manu, and even Ella climbed into the open back of Dad’s pickup truck and bumped across the fields to the little Christmas tree area next to the woods.

Several years ago, Dad had experimented with growing Christmas trees to sell. The soil hadn’t been right, and the experiment wasn’t a success, but a few trees had survived.

They weren’t as perfect as you would find on a tree farm. A bit of clever decorating was always needed to cover the bald patches and the weird parts. But once they had covered it with tinsel and ornaments and lights, Jasmine always thought their tree looked magical.

The tree they chose this year was the biggest one so far. Mom wouldn’t know what to do.

“Not too big,” she said every year, “or we won’t all fit in the room.”

But they never paid any attention. With Christmas trees, the rest of them all agreed, bigger was definitely better.

They held the tree steady while Dad sawed through the trunk. The wind was bitingly cold and Jasmine was glad she had worn her gloves. When the tree was cut, they all piled into the back of the truck. Dad lifted the tree onto their knees. It prickled their faces as they jolted over the rutted ground, singing “Jingle Bells” and “Sleigh Ride.” At that moment, Jasmine felt properly Christmassy.

“That wind’s getting up,” said Dad as he heaved the enormous tree out of the truck. “Shouldn’t be surprised if it snows later. This is some tree. Mom’s in for a shock.”

Snow! Jasmine loved snow, but she did worry about the guinea pigs. What if they froze to death?

“Give them extra hay so they can burrow right into it,” Mom said when Jasmine asked her advice later that afternoon. She had finally stopped ranting about the size of the tree, so it was safe to speak to her again.

“I’ve already given them lots of extra hay. And I put an old blanket over the hutch.”

“Then you’ve done the right thing. They’ll be fine. They’ve got all that fur, remember. Now where did I put my car keys? I’ll be back in a couple of hours, in time to decorate the tree and hang up the stockings.”

Mom was taking Manu and Ben to a Christmas Eve party at a friend’s house. Dad was feeding the calves. Ella was upstairs. It was only four thirty, but it was already dark. Too dark to play with Truffle, who was snuggled up in the kennel with Bramble, warm and cozy and full of milk.

Mom opened the front door and a gust of freezing wind blew in. “Oh, it’s horrible out there. Boys, are you coming?”

Jasmine went to look at the Christmas tree. It was beautiful, but the house felt too quiet and empty. The wind whipped strands of ivy against the windows. Jasmine closed the curtains. She wished there was a fire, but she wasn’t allowed to light it when there was no adult around. She went up to her room and took out her drawing paper and pencils.

She became so absorbed in drawing a picture of a field full of pigs that she tuned out the outside world completely. It was only when she finished it and realized she was hungry that she noticed the wind was much fiercer now. It howled in the chimneys and rattled the doors.

It was time to give the guinea pigs their evening feed. She put some carrots and cabbage leaves in a bowl and pulled on her coat and boots in the mudroom. An icy wind blew under the back door, rattling at the catch. When Jasmine opened the door, the cabbage leaves flew out of the bowl and she was almost blown back into the room. She scrabbled on the floor to pick up the leaves and clamped a hand over the bowl as she went out. The wind was blowing the door inward and she couldn’t shut it with one hand, so she had to stuff the food into her pocket and abandon the bowl. She put her flashlight in the other pocket and grabbed the door handle with both hands to play tug-of-war with the gale.

Once she had finally yanked the door shut, she made her way along the walkway, head down, one hand in her pocket and the other holding her flashlight. The wind was behind her now and its force propelled her down the path. She had never felt wind like it.

She came to the end of the path and stepped onto the lawn. Then she gasped in horror.

The guinea pigs’ hutch had blown right over. It was lying on its back on the grass. And the roof was completely open.

“Oh, no! Oh, no!” cried Jasmine. She ran to the fallen hutch and shone her flashlight inside.

The guinea pigs weren’t there.