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Children's Stories
by Margo Fallis
Where's my Bone?


Malcolm, the Scotty dog, wagged his tail back and forth. His mouth started to drool as he waited for Angus MacScot to drop the bone. It was big, and covered with scraps of juicy beef. Angus got up from the table and headed for Malcolm’s dog dish. It was black, just like he was, and had his name printed across the front of it in white. Malcolm trotted behind him, his toenails making a clacking sound on the wooden floor. Angus dropped the bone into his dish. "Here you go, Malcolm. It’s got lots of meat on it, just the way you like it," he said, petting the dog on the head and then walking back to the table.

Malcolm started licking the bone. Mmmmm, it was delicious. He lifted the bone out of the dish and put it on the floor. He sat on the floor and got comfortable and began to chew the bits of beef off and gulp them down. He’d never tasted anything so delicious before. After he was finished and the bone was clean, he picked it up in his square jaw, holding it tightly with his teeth, and ran outside with it. Angus had made a special hole in the wall just for Malcolm to go in and out of the small cottage.

It was a lovely day. The sun was shining and the sky was as blue as the bluebells growing outside the back door. Malcolm, carrying the bone, ran into the garden. Where should he bury his bone? He looked around. Should he bury it next to the buttercups? He set the bone down in the dirt and looked around. There were several big bumblebees buzzing around the yellow flowers. Maybe the bees would tell another dog where the bone was. Maybe this wasn’t a good place.

Malcolm picked the bone up and ran over to the other side of the garden. There was a tall rosebush covered with beautiful yellow flowers. He set the bone down and looked around. There were no bumblebees buzzing around. But, just then, he spotted three pale green butterflies, fluttering from rose to rose. Should he bury the bone here? Malcolm thought that perhaps the butterflies might tell Jock, the poodle, where he’d buried the bone. Maybe he should bury it somewhere else.

He picked the bone up and ran into a cluster of thistle. They were prickly and purple and surely nobody would think to look here for his bone and take it. Malcolm dropped his bone on the ground and looked around. There were no big bumblebees or fluttering butterflies in sight. He was just about to start digging a hole when a small brown mouse went scurrying past. Malcolm thought the mouse might tell Fiona, the Shetland collie that lived down the street, where he’d buried his bone. Maybe she would dig it up and take it. Maybe he should bury it somewhere else.

Malcolm picked it up and ran off. He was running out of places to bury it. He ran into a field of purple heather. The little bells were dancing on their stems as the gentle wind kissed them. There was so much heather that Malcolm decided to bury his bone right in the middle of it all. He stopped and dropped the bone in the heather. He looked around. There were no bumblebees, no butterflies and no mouse. He started digging a hole. He was nearly about to drop the bone inside when he heard a seagull squawking above him. He looked up. What if the seagull told Paddy, the Irish setter that had just moved to the village, where he’d buried his bone? Maybe he shouldn’t bury it here. Maybe he should bury it somewhere else.

He picked the bone up and ran off. He ran, and ran, and ran, until his short little legs were so tired that he couldn’t run any further. He came to a huge willow tree that was growing against the side of a deep blue loch. He looked around. There were no buzzing bumblebees, no fluttering butterflies, no scampering mouse, and no squawking seagulls. This was it. This was the place where he would bury his bone. He started digging a hole at the bottom of the tree. He kept looking around but never saw another soul. When the hole was finished, he dropped the juicy bone inside. He filled it back up by pushing the dirt in with his front paws, and then he patted it down. He looked around some more. Had anyone seen him bury his bone? There were no other animals in sight. Feeling that his bone would be safe, Malcolm ran home.

Malcolm went through his door into the cottage. He found a place to sleep by the fire, right next to Angus MacScot’s feet. He felt warm and cozy and dreamed about his bone. When Malcolm woke up the next morning, he was hungry. He kept thinking about that big bone he’d buried. He let Angus pet him and then ran out through his door into the fresh air. He stood near the bluebells and tried to remember where he’d buried his bone. He suddenly remembered. He’d buried it in the garden near the bright yellow buttercups. He trotted over to them, but he couldn’t find the pile of dirt showing where the hole was. He looked and looked but all he saw were buttercups and bumblebees.

Then he remembered! He’d buried his bone near the rose bush! He ran over to it, happily wagging his tail. Oh, that bone was going to taste so delicious. He looked under the thorny branches for a pile of dirt, but there wasn’t one. He stood there, confused. Where did he bury his bone? He looked up at the yellow roses. All he could see were flowers and pale green butterflies.

Then he remembered! He’d buried his bone near the thistles! He trotted over to the prickly bushes and looked all over for the pile of dirt where he’d buried his bone. He sniffed the air and ran all around. There was no pile of dirt. All he could see were the purple thistle flowers and the little brown mouse. He was starting to feel very hungry. His tummy started growling. Where did he bury his bone?

Then he remembered! He’d buried his bone in the heather! He trotted off, jolly and smiling towards the heather covered hill. He looked at all of it. How would he ever find his bone in all this heather? He started to run through it, hoping he could find a pile of dirt. He ran, and ran, and ran, searching and searching. Finally he spotted a pile of dirt. My bone! He ran up to it but there was only a pile of dirt and no bone. At first he thought that Jock, or Fiona, or Paddy had seen him and dug it up, but then he remembered, he’d not buried his bone there. Where did he bury his bone then?

Malcolm stood among the heather. The wind blew and the little bells swayed back and forth. He could hear Highland cows mooing and wooly sheep bleating. As the sun set that night, Malcolm was still sitting in the heather. As darkness came and the moon and stars appeared, he headed for the cottage. He went inside through his special door. He ran over to his dish. There was nothing in it. He’d missed dinner and leftovers. He slowly walked to the fire. Angus MacScot sat in the chair. Malcolm lay down on the ground near his feet.

He closed his eyes and was just about to fall asleep when Angus said, "Oh, there you are, Malcolm. I saved you some roast beef. Are you hungry, boy?" Malcolm jumped up and started wagging his tail. His tongue came out of his mouth and he even let out a soft bark. Excited, he followed Angus into the kitchen. Angus went to the refrigerator and took out a small plate piled high with scraps of roast beef. He put them into Malcolm’s dish and patted his head. "Enjoy your supper."

When Angus went back to his chair by the fire, Malcolm gobbled down all the roast beef. He licked the bowl afterwards, he licked his paws and he licked his lips. Mmmmm, that was delicious. He trotted into the living room and lay down in front of the fire. That night he dreamed about the roast beef. He never did find his bone down by the willow tree.


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