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A Double Dose of Driving Dogs

He hunted in the bushes. No Horace.
He peered into the shed. No dog there either.
Mr Hay snorted again. Then he picked up the lawnmower, flung it in the shed, and
stamped inside.
A minute later, the compost heap began to tremble. It quivered and shook and then
erupted. Horace’s head burst out of the top in a volcano of old potato peelings.
“I think we got away with it,” he said.
Kimi emerged next to him. She shook away a brown banana skin. “Now I feel
really sick!” she moaned. “That’s the last time I help you out.”
“I won’t need any more help, thanks,” said Horace, grinning broadly. “I’ve just
had the best idea of the lot! I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before.”
“Not more elastic?” Kimi groaned.
“A concrete car?”
“No! I’m going to make a real car with a real engine,” vowed Horace.
“Where are you going to get an engine?” Kimi asked.
“Easy! You’ve just shown me. A lawnmower!”