“I’m going to do it, Ellen!”

“Not this again, Rog. Give it a rest,” she said with a twitching tail.

“I can do it. He just sits there. All day, he just sits. Except when he goes over to to wizz in the corner of the yard. Slothful, that’s what he is.” Roger’s whiskers twitched with excitement and his brushy, russet tail was nearly flat. “I’m faster than he is, Ellen. I’ll bet I could go over two – no, make that three times.”

Ellen nibbled a flea on her thigh and did some spot cleaning. Finished, she looked back down her long red snout. “He’s not the one I’m worried about, you dope. What if the farmer thinks you’re after the hens? Ever think of that? You saw what happened to Daisy. And she wasn’t a daredevil, she was just trying to look after her pups.”

“He’s got to weigh… how much do you think he weighs?” Roger peered through the bushes. “He’s part cow. I’ll bet I could go over him four times. Wanna bet me? How much do you wanna bet?”

“Jesus, Roger, you’re not going to live to be two, you know that?”