The Dogs House

The wind came down off the hill, and the snow came with it. The dog turned round three times and curled up as small as he could, with his nose under his tail and his paws tucked in. He shook from his ears to his toes.

"I will build a house," he said through his chattering teeth. "A snug little house. It won't take long. Look at me! I am no bigger than a loaf of bread. A few sticks and a bit of mud will do it."

The snow melted and the grass came up, and the days grew long and slow, until summer came back to the hill.

The dog lay asleep in the sun, stretched out to his full length. His front paws pointed one way and his back paws pointed the other, and when he opened one eye, he could hardly see the end of himself. "My word," he said. "What a size I am!"

He thought about all the sticks it would take for a dog this big, and all the mud. And the sun was warm, and the grass was soft. "Who needs a house?" he said, with a great big yawn.

He shut his eye and went back to sleep.