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A Double Dose of Driving Dogs


“Well, no-one’s going to steal it, are they? You’re miles from anywhere. It’s safe
enough until you get a tow truck to come and pull it out.”
“A tow truck?” wailed Horace. “I don’t even know how to get myself back home,
let alone get a tow truck!”
He lifted his nose to the moon and howled in dark despair. “Ow-ooooh…
“Now, now,” said the sheepdog. “It’s not that bad. How did you end up here,
anyway?”
“We were being chased by cats.”
The sheepdog chuckled. “Cats, eh? That’s a new one. You’re from town, aren’t
you? Well, don’t worry! I can herd you – I mean, I can show you the way back to
your home.”
“Really?”
“No problem. I’m Max, from Lott’s farm over those fields,” said the sheepdog.
“Were you really driving that car yourself? I’m very impressed!”
Horace felt a little better; but only a little. He was cold and wet – and his car was
ruined. It had been beaten and broken and worst of all, d rowned.
“Just follow me,” barked Max.
So Horace scooped up K imi from the water and let her twine herself around his
neck again; she hung there motionless, as floppy as a soggy necktie. Tickety and Boo
clung on his back as he scrambled up the muddy slope behind the sheepdog.
“This way.” Max led him across the fields. Horace panted after him, until at last
they reached a dark farmyard where a lightless farmhouse slept, with a green tractor
parked beside it.
“This is my home,” said Max. “I usually guard the farm at night. When I heard the
cars, I thought it might be sheep rustlers. I never thought it would be a driving dog!”
“Horace is unique,” said Tickety proudly.
“If only I could drive the tractor, that would be so useful,” mused the sheepdog.
“No more endless running behind silly sheep. Was it hard to learn to drive?”
“Not really,” said Horace modestly.
“How did you do it?”
“Well, it was like this...” As they trotted down the farm track, Horace launched
into an account of his driving adventures.
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