Children's Fiction
Pierre was in training for the poodle championship. Every day after breakfast he ran on the treadmill. On Tuesdays he went to the School for Show Pups, and on Thursdays he went to Poochelli's Pet Parlor for a shampoo.
While he was being puffed and fluffed, Pierre imagined running with the wind in his long tangled fur. He chased squirrels, dug holes and rolled in any stinky thing he pleased.
Clearly, any field trip involving maure is not right for a bunch of fourteen-year-olds.
But manure wasn't even the worst part of the stupid field trip.
The worst aprt was that the farmer grows pigs. And pigs are also called hogs. And there's this poor guy in our class called Dan Hogg who everybody hated.
I don't know why exactly. Maybe it was his hair. Or his teeth. Or his glasses. Or the fact that he answered Mr. Benvie's questions as if he might actually have a brain. Usually he just tried to sort of disappear, but it never worked. Idiots like Shane Coolen or Tyler March wouldn't take their eyes off him. They wouldn't shut up about him. They wouldn't quit laughing at him.
