Of Lions and Unicorns: A Lifetime of Tales from the Master Storyteller. Michael Morpurgo

      Open one eye.

      Same old basket, same old kitchen.

      Another day.

      Ear’s itching.

      Have a good scratch.

      Lovely.

      Have a good stretch.

      Here comes Lula.

      “Morning, Russ,” she says.

      “Do you know what day it is today?”

      Silly question! Course I do!

      It’s the day after yesterday

      and the day before tomorrow.

      Out I go. Smarty’s barking his ‘good morning’ at me from across the valley.

      Good old Smarty. Best friend I’ve got, except Lula of course.

      I bark mine back.

      I can’t hang about. Got to get the cows in.

      There they are.

      Lula’s dad likes me to

      have them ready for milking

      by the time he gets there.

      Better watch that one with the new calf.

      She’s a bit skippy.

      Lie down, nose in the grass.

      Give her the hard eye.

      There she goes, in amongst the rest.

      And here comes Lula’s dad singing his way down to the dairy.

      “Good dog,” he says.

      I wag my tail. He likes that.

      He gives me another ‘good dog’.

      I get my milk. Lovely.

      Off back up to the house.

      Well, I don’t want to miss my breakfast, do I?

      Lula’s already scoffing her bacon and eggs.

      I sit down next to her

      and give her my

      very best begging look.

      It always works.

      Two bacon rinds in secret under the table,

      and all her toast crusts too. Lovely.

      There’s good pickings

      under the baby’s chair this morning.

      I hoover it all up. Lovely.

      Lula always likes me to go with her

      to the end of the lane.

      She loves a bit of a cuddle, and

      a lick or two before the school bus comes.

      “Oh, Russ,” she whispers. “A horse.

      It’s all I want for my birthday.”

      And I’m thinking, ’Scuse me, what’s so great about a horse?

       Isn’t a dog good enough?

      Then along comes the bus and on she gets.

      “See you,” she says.

      Lula’s dad is whistling for me.

      “Where are you, you old rascal you?”

      I’m coming.

      I’m coming.

      Back up the lane,

      through the hedge,

      over the gate.

      “Don’t just sit there, Russ.

      I want those sheep in for shearing.”

      And all the while he keeps on

      with his whistling and whooping.

      I mean, does he think

      I haven’t done this before?

      Doesn’t he know

      this is what I’m made for?

      Hare down the hill.

      Leap the stream.

      Get right around behind them.

      Keep low. Don’t rush them. That’s good.

      They’re all going now. The whole flock of them are trotting along nicely.

      And I’m slinking along behind, my eye on every one of them,

      my bark and my bite deep inside their heads.

      “Good dog,” I get. Third one today. Not bad.

      I watch the shearing

      from the top of the haybarn.

      Good place to sleep, this.

      Tigger’s somewhere here.

      I can smell her.

      There she is, up on the rafter,

      waving her tail at me.

      She’s teasing me. I’ll show her.

      Later, I’ll do it later.

      Sleep now. Lovely.

      “Russ! Where are you, Russ?

      I want these sheep out.

      Now! Move yourself.”

      All right, all right.

      Down I go, and out they go,

      all in a great muddle

      bleating at each other,

      bopping one another.

      They don’t recognise each other without their clothes on.

      Not very bright, that’s the trouble with sheep.

      Will you look at that!

      There’s hundreds of crows out in my corn field.

      Well, I’m not having that, am I?

      After them! Show them who’s boss!

      Thirsty work, this.

      What’s this? Fox!

      I can smell him.

      I follow him down

      through the bluebell wood to his den.

      He’s down there, deep down.

      Can’t get at him. Pity.

      Need a drink.

      Shake myself dry in the sun.

      Time for another sleep.

      Lovely.

      Smarty wakes me.

      I know what he’s thinking.

      How about

      a Tigger hunt?

      We find her soon enough.

      We’re after her.

      We’re catching her up.

      Closer. Closer.

      Right on her tail.

      That’s not fair.

      She’s found a tree.

      Up she goes.

      We