My Adaption of The “Tortoise and the Hare”

There once was a ferrel hunting dog, who thought he was so fast, so strong, and so big, that he wanted everyone to know about it. So he started with a mere mole, and teased him for being so slow.

“I’m sick of that hunting dog,” muttered the mole angrily, fairly spitting the words out. “For teasing me. Just thinking about it makes me angry.” The mole couldn’t think of anything else, until he finally decided to challenge the dog to a race. The ferrel hunting dog snorted, betting it would be no contest, yet vainly agreeing to it with a sly chuckle. The aging badger was elected to set the course, and be the judge.

“Ready, Set, Go!” The badger hollered. The crowd cheered and the contestants started. The hunting dog leaped ahead, giving the Mole an appalling start. Winning, of course, meant everything to the ferrel hunting dog. He kept his eyes on the road ahead of him, ignoring all of the trees flash by in a blur of colours, and the setting sun slowly setting behind him. Mindlessly he stopped and looked back. The mole was nowhere to be seen. The ferrel dog thought for sure that he had been rising at an angle; climbing a pitched mountain. Because of this thought, he considered taking a rest.

“Bad idea, bad idea!” the hunting dog scolded himself. But he suddenly felt dizzy, and though he was determined to see straight, the fast running caused him to fall as a brown ball under the shady trees, and setting sun.

When the race began, the humble mole diligently pressed towards his goal, not aware that his chance of winning was slim. The bright world seemed dazzling, so he made his mind up to go underground. Eventually, the burrowing mole passed by, under the sleeping hunting dog. “I must be there by now,” the mole thought, “but even if I am slightly faster underground than above, the hunting dog is sure to beat me.”

Meanwhile, the foolish dog slept. The mole persevered onward, slowly going upward. As he reached the top, he realized how easy the skirmish really was. The entire wood cheered for the mole, all except the sleeping Hunter. The grass rustled softly around the brunette creature. As Dusk rolled on, the Dog unconcernedly awoke. Suddenly realizing his folly though, he ran, as he never had before, with the hope of beating the mole. To his dismay, the mole was already celebrating his victory, under the setting Sun.

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