← Sleep Tight Stories - Bedtime Stories for Kids
Sleep Tight Stories - Bedtime Stories for Kids
Don, the Runaway Dog - Part 4 🐕
00:17:09
A bedtime story series featuring a dog on a farm
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Hello, friends, and welcome to Sleep Tight Stories. Squinty ran away, and Bob asked Don to go and bring him back. Don finds Squinty, and they watch Mappo and Tum Tum near the circus wagons. Squinty doesn't want to go home and tries to convince Don to run away with him, but Don says no. Squinty asks and asks until they are back on the farm and he is back in his pen. But Don cannot stop thinking about Squinty talking about running away, and thinks maybe it is something to consider. Don the Runaway Dog Part 4. All the way home through the woods, Squinty sulked. I don't like you one bit, the funny pig grumbled, spoiling my fun like that. I'm sorry about it, said Don, keeping a gentle hold on Squinty's ear so as not to hurt him. I don't mean to be unkind, but you belong at the farm, and my boy told me to fetch back any runaway pigs. So back you go. And just when I was having such a fine time, said Squinty. That's the trouble with you, Dawn. You've never run away, so you don't know if you tried it even once, you'd like it so much you'd never want to stop. Did you really have fun running away? Asked Don. Loads of fun, said Squinty, right up until you came along. Well, said dawn, you belong on the farm, not off in the circus with monkeys and elephants. But a circus is the best fun there is, said Squinty. I say, Don, why don't the two of us run away together and join one? We'd learn tricks and see the world. Come on. No, indeed, growled Don. I'm not running anywhere. Think of it, though, Squinty went on. On the farm nothing ever happens. Nothing, eh? Said Don. I suppose a big black bull breaking out of his pasture is nothing. And chasing you all this way, I suppose that's nothing too. Oh, well those, admitted Squinty. But I mean, lots more happens out in the world. On the farm it's the same thing every single day. You eat at the same times. You always have to come the minute Bob calls. Yes, but I like that because I love my boy Bob, said Don. And I like my three meals a day. But if you ran away, said Squinty, you could eat whenever you pleased. Don thought that over. Do you really think so? I'm sure of it, said Squinty. Well now, said Don slowly, I never thought of that. Maybe there's something in this running away after all. And that was the very first time in all the days he'd lived with Bob that Don ever thought about running off. He never would have either, if Squinty hadn't gone and put it into his head. He led the funny pig right up to the pen he'd broken out of. There you are, said Don, but kindly. Here I am. Worse luck, sighed Squinty. I do wish you'd let me run farther. Never mind. Maybe someday you'll run away yourself, and then you'll know how it feels to have somebody drag you home. No, I never will, said Don. Just then the farmer came hurrying out of the barn. Well, I declare. He cried, if Don hasn't brought that rascal Squinty home again. Good dog, Don. Don felt so proud he wagged his tail nearly hard enough to wag it right off. Then he trotted up to his kennel, dug up a nice juicy bone he'd buried there, and said to himself, no, I'll never run away. Never. But you just wait and see. For a few days nothing much happened. Don played with Bob, chased the chickens out of the garden, and did his tricks. Then one afternoon, Tabby the cat came and sat in the sun beside him, washing her face with one velvety paw. Don and Tabby were good friends. Don had always been kind to Cats because his mother had told him to be away back when he was small. Don't you ever get tired of it here, Don? Asked Tabby. Always the same farm, day after day. Why, no, I can't say I do, said Dawn. What makes you ask? Oh, I don't know, said Tabby. Some days I think I'd like to run off and see how the world looks somewhere else. I've been on this farm my whole life. So have I. Near enough, said Don. But I like it here all the same. What Tabby had said stayed with him, right alongside what Squinty had said. And as the warm summer days went by, Don began to think. I wonder how it would feel to run away, he said to himself. I've half a mind to try it just the once. Then I could come back and tell Tabby and Squinty and all the rest that there's really no fun in it at all. That would make them happy to stay home. Why, I'd be doing Bob and his father a favor. Yes, that's it. I'll run away. But only to tell the others how it is, so they'll stop wanting to. Yes, I shall run away. Don was clever about it. He waited for a day when Bob was at school because he knew that if Bob were home, he'd never get away unseen. After a good dinner, he looked carefully all around to make sure no one was watching, and trotted off down the road. I suppose I ought to say goodbye to Bob, he thought. But if I did, he'd know I was leaving and he'd stop me. So I'd better not. Tabby was sunning herself on the porch as he passed. Where are you off to? She called. Oh, just for a walk, said Don. He didn't want any cat following him. After all, he was only walking away for now. And at first it was lovely. The road was shady, there were springs to drink from, and every so often a flock of birds to chase, just for the fun of running with his red tongue hanging out. Before long, he met Rover, a dog from the next farm. Hello, Don. Where are you going? Said Rover. To tell the truth, said dawn, I'm running away to see the world. Want to come along? Run away? Not me, said Rover. I tried it once and I was never so glad in my life as when I got back home. You will be, too. But think of all the adventures we'd have, said Don. Come on, it'll be grand. No, thank you, said Rover. Mind what I'm telling you now. You'll be very glad indeed to get home again. I don't think so one bit, said Don. And off he went, feeling very pleased with himself. Squinty was right. There's loads of fun in running away. On and on he trotted, until after a while, he began to feel hungry. Now then, thought Don, what does a dog do for his dinner when he's run away? I meant to ask Squinty, and I clean forgot. Well, I'll just go up to a back door and find myself a bone. That turned out to be much harder than he expected. At home, Bob or his mother or Sally always brought Don a plate of scraps or a good bone. Out here, nobody brought him anything at all. He came to a big white house, a little like the one where his kennel was around at the back, sure enough, lay some bones with bits of meat still on them. Aha, thought Don. A fine dinner and no trouble at all. But just as he reached for the best one, a window banged open. Get out of here. Be off with you. Cried the cook, flapping her apron at him. Go on now, shoo. Dawn jumped back and ran for the gate. Well, how rude, he thought, once he was safely down the road. Those were bones. Nobody even wanted the idea. Nobody had ever spoken to him like that in all his life he tried a red house. Next. There was a tin can in the corner of the yard, and it smelled of bones. But before Don could nose the lid off, a gardener came striding over, waving his rake. Off you go. I'll have no dogs in my garden. Be off. And poor Don, with his tail tucked down, ran out of that yard, too. He trotted on now, hungrier than ever and a good deal less sure that Squinty had known what he was talking about. On he went past another grand house until he came to a little one where an old lady lived all alone. She looked out her kitchen window, saw the dog nosing about, and knew right away that he was hungry. There was a bit of bread on the ground left from feeding the birds that morning, and Don gulped it down. Poor dog. You're hungry, aren't you? The old lady said. Here, I'll give you a bone. She tossed something out the window. For half a second, dawn flinched, thinking it might be flung to drive him off. But then he caught the smell, and he knew it was a good, meaty bone. With a grateful bark, Don caught it in his teeth and trotted off, feeling a great deal better. He hadn't gone far when a bigger dog spotted him. Hold on, that's my bone, the big dog growled. I beg your pardon, said Don politely, the way he had been raised. But a kind lady gave it to me, and rather than argue, he ran. The big dog was stronger, but Don was quicker, and he was soon around the corner and out of sight. He found a shady spot by a bubbling street fountain and lay down to eat in peace as at last. But it was no use. Other dogs kept padding up to the fountain for a drink, and every one of them eyed his bone in a way Don didn't care for. One even crept in close, as if to snatch it right out from under his nose. I'll get no quiet here, Don decided, and he picked up his bone and trotted wearily on. At last he came to a railroad station. Don knew about railroads because the tracks ran near the farm, and he'd often gone with Bob to watch the trains rumble past. On the track stood a big brown freight car, its door open wide. In there, thought Don, I can eat my bone in peace. At last. And with one good jump, he was inside. It was quiet and shady in the car. No other dogs bothered him while he gnawed the last of the meat off his bone. And when he was finished, full and worn out from his long day, Don curled up on the floor and fell fast asleep. He didn't know how long he slept, but when he woke everything was dark and the floor beneath him was rumbling and swaying. Oh, the train started, thought Don. I have to get out. He scratched at the door, but it wouldn't move. While he slept, someone had slid it shut and locked it fast. Don was shut in with no way out. There was nothing to be done about it now. So Don lay back down in the dark, put his nose on his paws, and listened to the wheels going clackety clack beneath him, carrying him along through the night to somewhere he had never been. And that is the end of this part. Good night. Sleep tight. It.