The Dalmatian wanted a home, but not just a home – he also
wanted to do BIG things, like help people.
I want to do BIG
things, thought the Dalmatian. I want
to help fireman!
One day, when there was a terrible storm, the Dalmatian hid
in his doghouse. After a few minutes, an old woman came walking down the street.
She was going to get her mail when the Dalmatian’s eyes met with hers.
“Oh my, you poor thing,” said the old woman. “You don’t have
an owner, do you? I don’t see a collar, so I want to help you. I’ll feed you
loads of food and water. I hope you are a boy, because I am naming you Dally
the Dalmatian.”
She sat Dally down and let him play, eat and drink.
Right when Dally finished his food and drink, he could talk
to humans.
“Thanks for the meal,” he told the old woman. “But your
house is too small for me. I need more room for myself.”
The old woman understood, and they said goodbye.
One day, there were tryouts for being a firedog!
He went back and told the old woman, and she was nice enough
to drive him to the fire station.
“We need a new firedog,” said the fireman named Frank. “Our
old one retired.
“Pick me,” squeaked Dally.
No other dog wanted to take the job, except Dally. Just when
Dally got a little too happy, another dog walked in. It was another Dalmatian.
The old woman left Dally and the other Dalmatian to be
trained.
“What’s your dopey name?” asked the other Dalmatian.
“Dally,” said Dally.
“Mines Winston, and you are SO not going to win! I’m gonna
win, dumbie!”
“Don’t call me ‘Dumb’,” cried Dally.
“You’re ugly looking, too!” yelped Winston. “And I’m gonna
make sure you don’t win.”
Winston bit Dally hard on the throat and shook him back and
forth with his savage teeth, ripping Dally’s skin.
Finally, Winston let go and threw Dally into a shelf of
books.
When the trainer dog finally arrived, he smiled at Winston
and frowned at Dally.
“Well, I’m afraid Dally can’t participate,” growled Winston.
“He is a dumb dog and hurt himself.”
“Winston, it looks like you get a head start on training,”
said the trainer dog, “But at the end of the week there will be a quiz on how
to be a firedog.”
Dally was sent back in bandages to the old woman. The old
woman fixed Dally up right away, and the next day he felt better. He went back to
the fire station to begin training.
“You are still not going to win,” said Winston.
But Dally wouldn’t fall for it. He wouldn’t give up that
easily. Dally practiced sliding down the fireman pole. He practiced jumping
into the big truck. Both of these challenges got him into bandages again.
The old woman frowned. “Are you sure you are okay?” she
asked.
“Yup,” barked Dally.
Dally would never give up. He would keep trying!
On the final day, Dally grew very nervous. They started off
lifting weights.
“Use those strong dog muscles!” the trainer dog yelled.
Finally, the quiz began.
“Who can slide down the fireman pole the neatest?” called
the trainer dog.
Dally won the first challenge! Dally won the second
challenge, too!
The third challenge was the most important challenge, and if
Winston won this one, it would tie the score.
Who was better at putting out a small house fire?
Dally won this challenge, too! What a great day this was.
Dally had never felt more proud!
“No!” cried Winston. “You are amazing, and I am a STINKER!”
Dally was the new Firedog!
The old woman came to visit Dally at the fire station once
and a while. And Dally’s job became easier and easier. One day, Dally settled
down, had a wife and some kids, and was better off with a lot of happiness.
The End
A Note from Professor Watermelon: Jada, what a great story! You are a very talented young author, and I can't wait to read more of your work. When you originally shared this story in class, I was so inspired that I wanted to write about Dalmatians, too. If you haven't taken a look at my "finding the MUSE" post on Dalmatians, I invite you to do so. Also, take a look at Sparky, the National Fire Protection Association's Dalmatian mascot. He reminds me of "Dally"! Take care, Jada, and stay in touch!
Photo Credit: Justin Otto
Photo Credit: Justin Otto
No comments:
Post a Comment