Sarge was eating breakfast when the postman rattled the letter box.
Preacher and I shot out our dogdoor to play the Postman Game, but we were too late. Preacher gave a little howl of disappointment as the postman rode on past Foxie’s yard.
‘That new postman doesn’t play fair,’ said Foxie as he crawled under the hedge into our terrier-tory. ‘I don’t like him.’ He sat down to scratch his ribs, then sniffed about to see if Preacher and I had left any breakfast in our bowls. Of paws, we hadn’t.Foxie grumbled about that. Then he left our yard (never mind how) and trotted off to visit Spotty Sprat.