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A Double Dose of Driving Dogs


Alarmed, Horace let go and backed off. He backed into the vacuum cleaner, which
started up with an angry snarl.
Horace whirled round. Now what was attacking him? He leapt on the hose and
wrestled it to the floor.
“Get off that, you daft dog!”
With the vacuum cleaner subdued, Horace rolled over. He lay on his back, waved
his damaged paw in the air and began to whine for sympathy.
“Be quiet, Horace,” snapped Mrs Hay. “You’ve caused nothing but trouble. Bad
dog! I don’t want you in the house!”
And to Horace’s dismay, she shut him in the garage. At tea time he was given
food and water: but no pats or cuddles. He lay down by the car and whimpered.
He was a bad dog. He was stupid. Daft and hopeless. He’d only been defending
Joshua. How had it all gone so wrong?
Nobody loved him. Nobody understood. He might as well run away.
But he wouldn’t get very far on foot.
Horace laid his head upon his paws and sighed. If only he could drive away...
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