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A Double Dose of Driving Dogs


With a splash and a splutter, Boo came to the surface of the water bowl. “Two and
a half,” he gasped. Horace fished him out.
“I don’t know how to do it,” he said gloomily.
“It’s easy!” declared Boo. “Just take a deep breath and hold your nose–” Tickety
grabbed Boo by his stubby tail and dragged him away.
Horace lay and moped. He had no car. The triumphant cats would claim the
victory.
He moped all day. He moped all night.
Sometimes he stopped moping to sulk. Sometimes he brooded for a change.
Sometimes he howled. Sometimes he just whined and whimpered.
By the next morning, Mr Hay was fed up.
“I’ve had enough of this dog moping!” he snapped. “Josh? Take Horace for a long
walk. He needs more exercise.”
Horace whined some more. He didn’t need exercise. He needed wheels!
“Walkies, Horace! Come on, boy! What’s wrong?” Joshua tugged at his lead until
Horace had to move.
He plodded along the street behind Josh, tail down, head drooping. Seeing all the
padlocked garages added to his misery. To cap it all, they had to walk past Mordle’s
Modern Motors, with its gleaming sports cars – and its trio of cats sitting smugly on
the wall.
“What’s up, boy? Why are you unhappy?” Josh knelt down by the forecourt and
gave Horace a big hug. Horace tried to pull away.
“Poor old pudding,” said Josh, tickling his tummy.
“Noooo!” howled Horace. “Not now!”
“Aaaaaah! The dear little diddums doggie!” came the taunting cry from the cats.
“Who’s a poor little pudding, then? Who’s a snivelling softy?”
Horace was frantic to escape. At last he wriggled free from Joshua’s caresses and
raced off down the road with the lead trailing behind him.
He ran all the way to the park. Here he slowed to a walk, since there were no cats
to taunt him. Instead, there were dozens of other moping dogs being dragged round by
their impatient owners.
Horace barked a gloomy greeting at his friends: Silverside, the butcher’s dog, and
Jellybean, the fat spaniel from the sweet shop.
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