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     again.  Again Nosey caught him in the chest and sent him     rolling.  The next time Tippy came sneaking up, he came     low, on his belly.  Nosey didn’t like it and charged.  When     Nosey was almost on him, Tippy sprang, and down they     rolled.            Tippy growled, and Nosey baa’d.  Tippy would go     off a ways, trying to get Nosey to chase him.  Finally,     Nosey got the idea and off they went.  It wasn’t long before     they came back, but Tippy was chasing Nosey.  I thought I     would join them.  Away we went, around the apple tree,     under the clothesline, and through the flower bed, just as     Mom opened the door.            “What is going on here?”            “We’re playing tag,” I answered.            “Not in my flower bed, you don’t.  You take that     lamb and that dumb mutt and get out of there.”            It seemed as the days went by that we were always in     trouble for something, especially Nosey, who decided he     liked to eat Mom’s flowers.  Daniel even made up a rhyme     about us.     Tommy has a little lamb; its fleece is white as snow.     He drug it home from Brown’s one day because it wouldn’t     go.     It pulls clothes from the line and stomps them oh so bad.     It eats Mom’s flowers, messes on them, and makes her very     mad     Mom swears that if he does it one more time, that lamb it     will be toast.     She says, for dinner on that night, we’ll have a mutton     roast.            One day I decided that it would be safer for us to     play in the front yard, away from Mom’s flowers.  We had
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