youngfiction

“…We all sat around the table like we did every Sunday morning because Mum says we should spend more time together and not rot our brains in from watching too much telly, which I think is complete and utter nonsense. I see enough of Mum and Dad as it is, thanks very much!

Malcolm had just thrown one of his epic tantrums that ended up with a bowl of brown, milky slush being thrown across the dining room, hitting Dave-dog squarely in the face. But Dave-dog didn’t mind, he’ll eat anything that one.

Dave, as you could probably work out for yourself, is our family Dog, he’s getting quite old now and walks around with what Mum likes to call his ‘cute little waddle-y bum’ but really, I think that he’s just too fat and slow to do the job properly any more.

I had just been about to tuck into my fifth pancake when the doorbell rang, making Dave-dog jump.

‘DIIIIING DOOOONG’ … 'DIIIIIIING DOOOOOONG!’

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