12
“Can you please stop yapping?” asked
Crud. “I have a headache now.”
“The vet can take care of that,” said
Ick. And he kept on barking. Down Maple
Street. Up Elm Street. Across Main Street.
And all around the town. Until they got to
the place they feared most. The vet.
Ick also liked to hang his head out
the window. He liked the way his tongue
flapped in the air. But not this time.
Not in this crate. So he just barked and
barked and barked.
