Bark twice, head to the well and rescue little Timmy, yet again.

Little ingrate is right.

As you are approaching the well, you hear his anguished cries more clearly. You bark reassuringly, letting him know, "Lassie is here! Fear not, inept runt, Lassie will rescue your worthless carcass yet again!"

But Timmy replies, "Lassie? Is that you?"

You wonder to yourself who else would possibly bother to rescue the child, and bark again, this time with a hint of annoyance in your tone. You have pulled this kid out of wells and mineshafts more times than you can count. (And as a Collie, you can count high; beyond the limits of your toes, even!) If he really cared about you, he would at least know your rescue bark! You start to reconsider pulling the little twerp out of the well. After all, he's just going to fall in again.

Nevermind, that's not the kind of dog you are. You are a hero. You save lives, it's what you do. Sniffing the air deliberately, you locate a conveniently nearby rope and, holding one end in your teeth, lower the other end to Timmy, and gently but firmly pull him out of the well. Suddenly there is a crowd of onlookers, who clearly arrived during your heroic resuce efforts. The boy is saved, and your gaze falls upon his undersized, inferior frame. Suddenly, you notice something odd.

The End

7 comments about this story Feed