Round and round and round.
The paws are faster than sound.
Round and round, round and round, round and
…
I
was running my ninety-fifth lap of the boring backyard. There was nothing else
to do, except sleep in my basket and chase sparrows.
Then
Sarge came home.
‘We’re
getting a transfer, Jack,’ he said.
Round
and round and … ZOOOOP!
I
skidded to a stop. I wagged my tail and did the paw thing. Sarge isn’t the brightest biscuit in the pack, but he
knew that meant—
Great! Where are we going? Is
Auntie Tidge coming?
‘Place called
Doggeroo,’ said Sarge. He kicked my squeaker-bone
so it squeaked.
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