Read Online That Dirty Dog and Other Naughty Stories for Good Boys and Girls by Christopher Milne - Free Book Online Page A

feeling in my stomach. It would have helped so much if Dad had said something nice about Jack, or how sorry he felt for him, but instead he just stared at the wall.
    At last the vet came back.
    I could tell straight away from the look on the vet’s face that the news was bad. Broken ribs, and three hundred and sixty dollars to fix him.
    â€˜Right,’ said Dad, ‘that’s all I need to know. You can put him down. Sooner the better, I say.’
    â€˜No!’ I sobbed. ‘I’ll pay, somehow. Please, Dad!’
    Dad just shook his head. Suddenly, something inside me went funny. Something I’d never felt before.
    â€˜I hate you!’ I shouted. ‘You reckon everyone else is a wuss, but you know what? I think you are. Because you’re too scared to do something nice!’ And with that I turned and ran.
    I’d never spoken to my dad like that before, and I expected him to chase me down and ground me for a year. But he didn’t.
    When he came out of the vet’s a few minutes later, I saw him wipe his eye with his sleeve.
    â€˜Got some of that dog dirt in my eye,’ he muttered.
    On the way home, neither of us said anything. Nothing.
    That night, no-one said much either. Except for Mum, who asked Dad when his fishing trip was coming up this year.
    â€˜Might not go,’ said Dad.
    â€˜But you love it,’ said Mum.
    â€˜Gets a bit boring,’ said Dad. ‘Anyway, we could use the money.’
    â€˜What for?’ asked Mum. Dad didn’t answer. I didn’t even mention Jack after that. I’d told Dad I hated him for putting Jack down. What else was there to say?
    Not that I didn’t think about poor Jack. I thought about nothing else. I reckon it’s the saddest I’ve ever felt.
    It was about a week later that Dad came home and said, ‘I’ve got something to show you.’
    I guessed he had a new truck, so I walked outside for a look. And there, sitting in the front seat of Dad’s old Mack, was the nicest thing I’ve ever seen.
    Jack , with his fur all washed, his tail wagging and a great big bandage around his tummy.
    I raced over and gave Jack the most massive hug of his life. Then I turned and said, ‘I love you, Dad.’
    â€˜And I love you too,’ said Dad. This time, he must have had dirt in both eyes.
    Jack goes everywhere with Dad now. When Dad does a job picking up sheep or cows, Jack helps round them up.
    â€˜So he should,’ says Dad. ‘Rotten mongrel owes me heaps.’
    In the morning, Dad leans down and lets Jack lick his face. If that’s tough, I want to be just like my dad.

Peter Wallace was mad about cricket. ‘Cricket-crazy,’ his dad said.
    It was cricket-this, cricket-that. Cricket before school. Cricket after school. If Pete didn’t have a bat or ball in his hand, his mum used to take his temperature.
    Peter wouldn’t let his dad or his little brother Robbie rest for a minute. Always wanting to have a hit in the backyard, always wanting to bat first, and never, ever going out LBW. Some nights Peter wore his pads to bed. And Rob reckoned that on windy, scary nights, he wore his protector as well.
    As Peter grew older, he started to play in the under-thirteens competition. His love of cricket became even greater. And people started noticing something. Peter was becoming a good little player.
    But Pete didn’t want to be just good. He wanted to play for Australia! It was something he’d heard on the radio that did it. A young Indian batsman was asked when he’d first wanted to play for India. ‘From the moment I picked up a bat,’ he answered.
    Yes, that’s me! Pete thought. I’m not crazy. I want to play for my country too!
    Pete’s dad said there was nothing wrong with aiming for the top, but that he shouldn’t forget cricket was just a game. ‘Play for fun and try your best,’ he said. ‘And everything else will take