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Risky's Gone! |
STORY: I set out that day to find my pet, Risky. I am twelve years old. My name is Ryan. See, my dog got out of the house! We don't know how. I just headed out the door before my brother came through the door. "I'm coming with you," he said. Usually my dog doesn't get out. When he does, it's serious. "I don't need your help," I grumbled. "Two heads are better than one," my mother reminded me. "Fine," I said. My brother is two years younger than me. He's ten. Sometimes he can be such a pain. We left the house and were about five blocks down the road when I heard something rustle in the bushes. "Shh," I told my brother, Dennis. "I hear something." "Let's ignore it. It's probably a raccoon or something," Dennis said. |