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“The Wind in the Willows”, Chapter IIII, by Kenneth Grahame

Today's story is the first episode of The Voice of Dog in 2022.  I’m Khaki, your faithful fireside companion, and To celebrate the new year, today’s story is the third chapter of  "The Wind in the Willows" by Kenneth Grahame, first published in 1908. 

The first chapter appeared on the 100th episode of The Voice Of Dog, on August 5th, 2020, and the second a year ago, when a frustrated mole came out of the burrow to find himself welcomed into a queer and wonderful new world of love, comfort, adventure and friendship.

Thank you for keeping us company at the fireside in 2021. 

Thank you for listening to The Voice of Dog. 

thevoice.dog | Apple podcasts | Spotify | Google Podcasts

If you have a story you think would be a good fit, you can check out the requirements, fill out the submission template and get in touch with Khaki on Twitter or Telegram!

Transcript
Khaki QOD:

you're listening to the first episode of the voice of dog in 2022.

Khaki QOD:

I'm cocky.

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You're faithful, fireside companion.

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And to celebrate the new year.

Khaki QOD:

Today's story is the third chapter of the wind in the willows by Kenneth Graham.

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First published in 1908.

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The first chapter appeared on the 100th episode of the voice of dog on August

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5th, 20, 20, and the second a year ago.

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When a frustrated mole came out to the bureau to find himself welcomed

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into a queer and wonderful new world of a love, comfort adventure.

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And friendship.

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Please enjoy.

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The wind in the willows chapter three.

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By Kenneth Graham.

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. The mole had long wanted to make the acquaintance.

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Of the Badger.

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He seemed by all accounts to be such an important personage.

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And they'll rarely visible to make his unseen influence felt

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by everyone about the place.

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But whenever the mole mentioned his wish to the water rat, He

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always found himself put off.

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It's all right.

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The rat would say.

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Badger will turnip someday, or rather he's always turning up and then I'll

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introduce you the best of fellows, but you must not only take him as

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you find him, but when you find him.

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Couldn't you ask him here.

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Dinner or something said the mall.

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Hey, wouldn't come reply.

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The rat simply Badger hates society and invitation Dan dinner

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and all that sort of thing.

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We'll then supposing we go and call on him.

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I suggested the mall.

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How I'm sure you wouldn't like that at all.

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Said the rat quite alarmed.

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Hey, so very shy.

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He'd be sure to be offended.

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I've never even ventured to call on him at his own house.

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Myself though.

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I know him so well.

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Besides we can't.

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It's quite out of the question because he lives in the very middle of the wild.

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What.

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Well, supposedly doors said the mall.

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You told me the Wildwood was all rack, you know?

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How why now?

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I now, so it is replied the rat invasively.

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But I think we won't go there just now.

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Not just yet.

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It's a long way and he wouldn't be at home at this time of year.

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Anyhow.

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And he'll be coming along someday.

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If you'll wait quietly.

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The mole had to be content with this.

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But the Badger never came along.

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And every day brought it amusements and it was not till summer was long over and cold

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and frost and Myrie ways kept the much indoors and the swollen river raced past

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outside their windows with a speed that mocked at bolting of any sort or kind.

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That he found his thoughts dwelling again with much persistence on the

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solitary gray Badger who lived his own life by himself, in his hole,

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in the middle of the wild wood.

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In the wintertime, the rat slept a great deal.

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Retiring early and rising late.

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During his short day, he sometimes scribbled poetry.

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What did other small domestic jobs about the house?

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And of course there were always animals dropping in for a chat.

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And consequently, there was a good deal of storytelling and comparing notes

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on the past summer and all its doings.

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It's such a rich chapter.

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It had been when one came to look back on it all.

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With illustration so numerous and so very highly colored.

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The pageant of the riverbank had marched steadily along unfolding

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itself in seen pictures that succeeded each other in stately procession.

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Purple loose.

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Strife arrived early shaking, luxurious tangled blocks along the edge of

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the mirror, whence its own face.

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Laughed back at it.

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Willow herb tender and wistful like a pink sunset cloud was not slow to follow.

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Comfrey the purple hand-in-hand with the white crept forth to

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take its place in the line.

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And our last one morning,, the defendant and delaying dog groves

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stepped delicately on the stage.

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And one new as if string music had announced it in stately chords that

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strayed into a That June at last was here.

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One member of the company was still awaited the shepherd

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boy for the nymphs, to who?

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The night for whom the ladies waited at the window, the prince

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that was the kiss, the sleeping summer, back to life and love.

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But when middle suites, debonair and odorous in Amber Gerkin moved

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graciously to his place in the group.

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Then the play.

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Was ready to begin.

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And what a play it had been.

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Drowsy animals.

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Snugging their holes while wind and rain were battering at their doors

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recalled still keen mornings an hour before sunrise, when the white mist

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as yet, and dispersed clung closely along the surface of the water.

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Then the shock of the early plunge.

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The scamper along the bank.

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And the radiant transformation of earth, air and water when suddenly

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the sun was with them again.

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And gray was gold and color was born and sprang out of the earth once more.

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They recall the language of siesta of hot midday, deep in green

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undergrowth, the sun striking through in tiny golden shafts and spots.

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The boating and bathing of the afternoon.

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The rambles along dusty lanes and through yellow cornfields.

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And the long, cool evening at last.

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When so many threads were gathered up so many friendships rounded and so

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many adventures planned for the Moro.

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There was plenty to talk about on those short winter days, when the animals

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found themselves around the fire.

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Still.

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The mole had a good deal of spare time on his hands.

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And so one afternoon, when the rat in his armchair, before the blaze

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was alternately dozing, And trying over rhymes that wouldn't fit.

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He formed the resolution to go out by himself.

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And explore the wild wood.

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And perhaps strike up an acquaintance with Mr.

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Badger.

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It was a cold still afternoon with a hard steely sky overhead.

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When he slipped out of the warm parlor into the open air.

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The country laid bare and entirely leafless around him.

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And he thought that he had never seen so far.

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And so intimately into the insides of things.

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As on that winter day, when nature was deep in her annual slumber.

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And seemed to have kicked the clothes off.

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Copses Dell's quarries and all the hidden places, which had been mysterious minds

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for exploration in leafy summer now expose themselves and their secrets pathetically.

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That seems to ask him to overlook their shabby poverty for awhile until they could

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riot enrich masquerade as before and trick and entice him with the old deceptions.

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It was pitiful in a way.

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And yet tiering.

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Even exhilarating.

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He was glad that he liked the country.

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Undecorated.

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Hard and stripped of its finery.

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He had gone down to the bare bones of it.

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And they were fine and strong and simple.

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He did not want the warm Clover and the play of seeding grasses.

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The screens of quickset, the biller would drapery of beach and Elm seemed best away.

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And with great cheerfulness of spirit, he pushed on towards the Wildwood, which

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lay before him low and threatening.

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Like a black leaf in some still Southern C.

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There was nothing to alarm him at first entry.

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Tweaks crackled under his feet.

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Logs tripped him.

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Fungus's on stumps, resembled characatures and startled him for

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the moment by their likeness to something familiar and far away.

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But that was all fun.

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And exciting.

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It led him on and he penetrated to where the light was less and

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trees, crouched, nearer, and nearer.

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And hole's made ugly mouths at him on either side.

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Everything was very still now.

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The dusk advanced on him steadily.

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Rapidly gathering in behind and before.

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And the light seemed to be draining away like floodwater.

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Then the faces began.

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It was over his shoulder and indistinctly that he first thought he saw a face.

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A little evil web shaped face, looking out at him from a whole.

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When he turned and confronted it.

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The thing had vanished.

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He quick and just pace telling himself cheerfully not to begin imagining things,

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or there will simply be no end to it.

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He passed another hole and another and another.

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And then yes, no.

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Yes.

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Certainly a little narrow face with heart eyes had flashed up for an

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instant from a hole and it was gone.

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He hesitated.

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Brace himself up for an effort.

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And Strode on.

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Then suddenly, and as if it had been so all the time, every hole far and

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near, and there were hundreds of them.

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Seemed to possess it's face coming and going rapidly.

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All fixing on him, glances of malice and hatred, all hard eyed and evil and sharp.

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Ooh.

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If you could only get away from the OLS and the banks, he thought

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there would be normal faces.

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It's one off the path and plunged into the untrodden places of the wood.

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Then the whistling began.

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Very faint and shrill.

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It was and far behind him when he first heard it, but somehow

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it made him hurry forward.

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Then still very faint and shrill it's out of far ahead of him.

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And made him hesitate and want to go back.

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As he halted in indecision.

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It broke out on either side and seemed to be caught up and passed

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on throughout the whole length of the wood to his father's limit.

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They were up.

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And alert and ready.

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Evidently whoever they were.

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And he, he was alone.

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And unarmed and far from any help.

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And the night was closing in.

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Then the pattering began.

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He thought it was only falling leaves at first.

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So slight and delicate was the sound of it.

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Then as it grew, it took a regular rhythm.

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And he knew it for nothing else, but the pat, pat, pat of little

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feet, still a very long way off.

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Was in front or behind.

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It seemed to be first one and then the other.

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Then both.

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It grew and multiplied till from every quarter as he listened

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anxiously leaning this way.

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And that it seemed to be closing in on him.

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As he stood still to hearken a rabbit, came running hard

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toward him through the trees.

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He waited, expecting it to slack and pace, or to swerve from

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him into a different course.

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Instead.

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The animal almost brushed him as a dashed, past his face set

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and hard, his eyes staring.

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Get out of this, you fool.

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Get out.

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The mole heard him mutter as he swung round a stump and

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disappeared down a friendly borough.

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The pattering increased until it sounded like sudden Hale on the

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dry leaf carpet spread around him.

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The whole wood seemed running now, running hard.

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Hunting.

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Chasing.

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Closing in round something or somebody.

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In panic, he began to run to.

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Aimlessly.

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He knew not with her.

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He ran up against things.

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He fell over things and into things.

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He darted under things and dodged round things.

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At last, he took refuge in the deep dark hollow of Nolde Beech

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tree, which offered shelter.

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Concealment.

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Perhaps even safety, but who could tell.

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Anyway, he was too tired to run any further and could only snuggle

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down into the dry leaves, which are drifted into the hollow.

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And hope he was safe for a time.

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And as he lay there, panting and trembling.

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And listening to the whistling.

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And the patternings outside.

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He knew it had last in all its fullness, that dread thing, which

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other little dwellers in field, and Headrow had encountered there

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and known as their darkest moment.

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That thing, which the rat had vainly tried to shield him from.

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The terror of the wild wood.

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Meantime, the rat warm and comfortable dosed by his fireside, his paper of half

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finished versus slipped from his knee.

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His head fell back.

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His mouth opened and he wandered by the verdant banks of dream rivers.

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Then a coal slipped, the fire crackled and sent up a spurt of

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flame and he woke with a start.

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Remembering what he had been engaged upon.

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He reached down to the floor for his verses poured over them for a minute.

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And then looked around for the mold to ask him if he knew a good rhyme for something

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or other, but the mole was not there.

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He listened for a time.

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The house seemed very quiet.

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Then he called Morley several times and receiving no answer got

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up and went out into the hall.

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The moles cap was missing from its accustomed peg.

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Is galoshes, which always lay by the umbrella stand.

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We're also gone.

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The rat left the house and carefully examined the muddy surface of the ground

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outside, hoping to find the moles tracks.

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There they were short enough, the galoshes were new, just bought

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for the winter and the pimples on their souls were fresh and sharp.

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He could see the imprints of them in the mud.

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Running along straight and purposeful.

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Uh, leading direct into the wild wood.

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The rat looked very grave and stood in deep thought for a minute or two.

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Then he reentered the house.

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Strapped a belt around his waist shoved the brace of pistols into it.

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Took up a stout cuddle that stood in a corner of the hole and set off

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for the wild woods at a smart pace.

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It was already getting towards dusk when he reached the first fringe of trees.

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And plumbed without hesitation into the wood looking anxiously on either

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side for any sign of his friend.

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Here and there we get little faces popped out of the holes, but vanished immediately

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at site of the valorous animal.

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Is pistols and the great ugly cultural in his grasp.

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And the whistling and pattering, which he had heard quite

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plainly on his first entry.

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Died away.

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And ceased and all was very still.

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He made his way.

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Manfully through the length of the wood to its furthest edge.

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Then forsaking all paths.

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He set himself to traverse it.

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Laboriously working over the whole ground on all the time.

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Calling out cheerfully.

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Mary Lee Maoli moly.

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Where are you?

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It's me.

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It's our rat.

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He had patiently hunted through the woods for an hour or more when at last.

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To his joy.

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He heard a little answering cry.

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Guiding himself by the sound he made his way through the gathering

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darkness, to the foot of an old beach tree with a hole in it.

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And from out of the hole, came a feeble voice saying.

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Ratty.

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Is that really?

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You.

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The rat crept into the hollow and there he found the mole

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exhausted and still trembling.

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Oh, rot.

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He cried.

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I've been sore frightened.

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You can't think.

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Oh, Y quite understand.

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I said the rat soothingly.

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Oh, you shouldn't really have gone and done it.

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Well, I did my best to keep you from it.

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Where are you living at bankers?

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We hardly ever come here by ourselves.

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If we have to come, we come and couples at least then we're generally.

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All right.

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Besides, there are a hundred things.

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One has to know which we understand all about and you dumped as yet.

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I mean passwords and signs and saying which have power and effects

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and plants, you carry in your pocket and versus your repeat and

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Dodgers and tricks you practice.

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All simple enough when you know them.

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But they've got to be known if you're small or you'll find yourself in trouble.

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Of course, have you wear Badger or water?

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It would be quite another matter.

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Surely the brave, , Mr.

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Todd, wouldn't mind common air by himself.

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Woody inquired the mole.

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How toad said the rat laughing Hartley.

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I wouldn't show his face here alone, not for a whole

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handful of golden guineas toad.

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Wouldn't.

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The mole was greatly cheered by the sound of the rats.

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Careless laughter.

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As well as by the sight of his stick and the gleaming pistols, and

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he stopped shivering and began to feel bolder and more himself again.

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Now we'll then set the rack presently.

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We really must pull ourselves together and make a start for home while

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there's still a little light left.

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It will never do to spend the night in here.

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You understand?

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Too cold for one thing.

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The erotic.

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So the poor mole.

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I'm dreadfully, sorry, but I'm simply dead beaten.

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That's a solid fact.

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It was, let me rest here a little while longer and get my strength back.

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If I'm to go home at all.

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I'll wall rights.

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Said the good natured rat.

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Rest away.

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It's pretty, nearly pitch black now, anyhow, and there ought

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to be a bit of a moonlighter.

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So the mole got well into the dry leaves and stretched himself out and

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presently dropped off into sleep.

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They'll have a broken and troubled sought.

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While the raft covered himself up to was best.

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He might for warmth.

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And lay patiently waiting.

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With a pistol in his pool.

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When I've lost them all woke up much refreshed and in his usual spirits,

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The rat said.

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Nail them.

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Oh, I'll just take a look outside and see if everything's quiet.

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And then when you really must be off.

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He went to the entrance of their tweet and put his head out.

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Then the mole heard him saying quietly to himself.

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Ha ha Lau.

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He is go.

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What's up ratty, ask them all.

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Snow is up.

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Replied the rat briefly.

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Or rather down, it's snowing hard.

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The mole came and crouched beside him and looking out, saw the wood that had been so

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dreadful to him in quite a change aspect.

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Holes hollows pools, pitfalls, and other black ministers to the Wayfair.

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We're vanishing fast.

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And the gleaming carpet a ferry was springing up everywhere.

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That looks too delicate to be trodden upon by rough feet.

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A fine powder, filled the air and caressed the cheek with a tingle in its touch.

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And the black bowls of the trees showed up in a light.

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That seemed to come from below.

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Well, well, I can't be helped, said the rat after pondering.

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Well, you must make a start and take our chance, I suppose.

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The worst of it is.

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I don't exactly know where we are.

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And now this smell makes everything look so very different.

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It did indeed.

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The mold would not have known that it was the same wood.

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However, they set out briefly.

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And took the line that seemed most promising holding onto each other.

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And pretending with invincible cheerfulness that they recognized

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an old friend in every fresh tree.

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That grimly and silently greeted them or saw openings gaps or parts

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with a familiar turn in them in the monotony of white space and black

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tree trunks that refuse to vary.

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An hour or two later.

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They had lost all count of time.

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They pulled up the spirited, weary and hopelessly at sea and sat down on

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a fallen tree trunk to recover their breath and consider what was to be done.

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They were raking with fatigue and bruised with tumbles.

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They had fallen into several holes and got wet through.

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The snow was getting so deep that they could hardly drag

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their little legs through it.

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And the trees were thicker and more like each other than ever.

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There seem to be no end to this wood.

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And no beginning and no difference in it.

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And worst of all, No way.

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Out.

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We can't sit here very long.

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I said the rat.

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At least we'll have to make another push for it and do something or other.

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The cold is too awful for anything.

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And the snow will soon be too deep for us to Wade through.

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He peered about him and considered.

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Look here.

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He went on.

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This is what a curse to me.

Khaki QOD:

There's a sort of Dell down here in front of us where the ground seems

Khaki QOD:

all Healy and Humpy and hummocky.

Khaki QOD:

We'll make our way down into vet.

Khaki QOD:

And try and find some sort of shelter, cave, or hole with a dry floor to it.

Khaki QOD:

Out of the snow and the wind, and then we'll have a good

Khaki QOD:

rest before we try again.

Khaki QOD:

. For we're both of us pretty dead beat.

Khaki QOD:

The science, the Snell may leave off something may turn up.

Khaki QOD:

So once more.

Khaki QOD:

They got on their feet.

Khaki QOD:

And struggled down into the Deleware they hunted about for a cave or some

Khaki QOD:

corner that was dry and the protection from the key wind and the whirling snow.

Khaki QOD:

They were investigating one of the hummocky bits.

Khaki QOD:

The rats had spoken of.

Khaki QOD:

When suddenly the mole tripped up and fell forward on his face with a squeal.

Khaki QOD:

Oh, my leg.

Khaki QOD:

He cried.

Khaki QOD:

Oh, my poor shin.

Khaki QOD:

And he sat up on the snow and nursed his leg in both his front paws.

Khaki QOD:

Poor home model.

Khaki QOD:

I said the rat kindly.

Khaki QOD:

You don't seem to be having much luck today.

Khaki QOD:

Do you.

Khaki QOD:

Let's have a look at the leg.

Khaki QOD:

Yes.

Khaki QOD:

He went on going down on his knees to look.

Khaki QOD:

You've cut your shin short enough.

Khaki QOD:

Wait, like edit my handkerchief and I'll tie it up for you.

Khaki QOD:

Ah, Most of tripped over ed branch.

Khaki QOD:

Shura stomp said the mole miserably.

Khaki QOD:

Oh my oh my.

Khaki QOD:

It's a very clean cat, said the rat, examining it again.

Khaki QOD:

Attentively.

Khaki QOD:

That was never done by a branch or a stump.

Khaki QOD:

Looks at if it was made by a sharp edge or something in methyl.

Khaki QOD:

Funny.

Khaki QOD:

He pondered a while and examined the humps and slopes that surrounded them.

Khaki QOD:

Well, nevermind bought Don.

Khaki QOD:

It said them all forgetting his grammar in his pain.

Khaki QOD:

It it's just the same, whatever done it.

Khaki QOD:

But the rat.

Khaki QOD:

After carefully tying up the leg with his handkerchief.

Khaki QOD:

Had left him.

Khaki QOD:

And was busy scraping in the snow.

Khaki QOD:

He scratched and shoveled and explored all four legs working busily while the mole

Khaki QOD:

waited impatiently remarking it intervals.

Khaki QOD:

Oh, come on rat.

Khaki QOD:

Suddenly the rat cried.

Khaki QOD:

Hurray.

Khaki QOD:

And then who Ray you, Ray.

Khaki QOD:

Ray and fell to executing a feeble jig in the snow.

Khaki QOD:

What have you found bratty?

Khaki QOD:

At the mall still nursing his leg.

Khaki QOD:

Come and see said that lighted rat as he jiggled on.

Khaki QOD:

The mole huddled up to the spot and had a good look.

Khaki QOD:

. Well, he said it lasts slowly.

Khaki QOD:

As I see it right now.

Khaki QOD:

Seeing the same sort of thing before, lots of times.

Khaki QOD:

Familiar object, uh, call it.

Khaki QOD:

Adore scraper.

Khaki QOD:

Well, what have it?

Khaki QOD:

Well, I.

Khaki QOD:

Dance jigs around a door scrapper.

Khaki QOD:

Don't you see what it means?

Khaki QOD:

You, you dealt with it animal.

Khaki QOD:

. Cried the rat in patiently.

Khaki QOD:

Of course, I see what it means.

Khaki QOD:

Replied them all.

Khaki QOD:

It's simply means that some very careless and forgetful person as

Khaki QOD:

left his door scraper, lying about in the middle of the Wildwood, just

Khaki QOD:

where it's sure to trip everybody up.

Khaki QOD:

Very thoughtless of MRI, call it.

Khaki QOD:

When I got home, I shall go and complain about it too.

Khaki QOD:

Do somebody or other, see if I don't.

Khaki QOD:

Oh dear.

Khaki QOD:

Oh, dear cried.

Khaki QOD:

The rat in despair.

Khaki QOD:

It is obtuseness here.

Khaki QOD:

Stop arguing and come and scrape.

Khaki QOD:

And he said to work again.

Khaki QOD:

And made the snow fly in all directions around him.

Khaki QOD:

After some further toil, his efforts were rewarded.

Khaki QOD:

And a very shabby doormat lay exposed to view.

Khaki QOD:

There.

Khaki QOD:

What did I tell you?

Khaki QOD:

Explain the rat in great triumph.

Khaki QOD:

Absolutely nothing, whatever replied them all with perfect truthfulness.

Khaki QOD:

Well, now he went on.

Khaki QOD:

You seem to have found another piece of domestic litter.

Khaki QOD:

Doesn't fall and thrown away.

Khaki QOD:

And I suppose you're perfectly happy.

Khaki QOD:

Better go ahead.

Khaki QOD:

And Dan shore.

Khaki QOD:

Jay ground that if you've got to and get it over and then perhaps we can go and not

Khaki QOD:

waste any more time over rubbish heaps.

Khaki QOD:

Can we eat a doormat or sleep under a doormat or sit on a doormat.

Khaki QOD:

I'm sledge home over the snow on it.

Khaki QOD:

You would get exasperating rodent.

Khaki QOD:

To you mean to say.

Khaki QOD:

I cried the excited rat.

Khaki QOD:

That this doormat doesn't tell you anything.

Khaki QOD:

Really IRAT.

Khaki QOD:

Set the mole quite perishingly.

Khaki QOD:

Uh, think we'd had enough of this folly.

Khaki QOD:

Whoever heard.

Khaki QOD:

Uh, telling anyone anything they're simply don't do it.

Khaki QOD:

They are not that sort at all.

Khaki QOD:

Doormats nor their place.

Khaki QOD:

Now look here, you.

Khaki QOD:

The thick headed beast replied the rat really angry.

Khaki QOD:

This must stop.

Khaki QOD:

Not another word, but scrape.

Khaki QOD:

Scrape and scratch and dig and hunt around, especially

Khaki QOD:

on the sides of the hammocks.

Khaki QOD:

If you want to sleep warm and dry tonight for it's our last chance.

Khaki QOD:

The right attack to snowbank beside them with ardor

Khaki QOD:

probing with this cudgel everywhere and then digging with fury.

Khaki QOD:

And the mole scraped busily to more, to obliged the rat then for any other reason.

Khaki QOD:

But his opinion was that his friend was getting lightheaded.

Khaki QOD:

Some 10 minutes hard work.

Khaki QOD:

And the point of the rats, cultural struck something that sounded hollow.

Khaki QOD:

He worked till he could get a pull through and feel then call

Khaki QOD:

the mole to come and help him.

Khaki QOD:

Hard at it went to two animals till it lasts.

Khaki QOD:

The result of their labors stood full in view of the astonished

Khaki QOD:

and hitherto incredulous mole.

Khaki QOD:

In the side of what had seemed to be a snowbank.

Khaki QOD:

I stood a solid looking little door.

Khaki QOD:

Painted a dark green.

Khaki QOD:

An iron bell pool hung by the side and below it on a small brass plate, neatly

Khaki QOD:

engraved in square capital letters they could read by the aid of Moonlight.

Khaki QOD:

Mr Badger.

Khaki QOD:

The mole fell backwards in the snow from share surprise and delight.

Khaki QOD:

Or rat.

Khaki QOD:

He cried in penitence.

Khaki QOD:

We all are a wonder.

Khaki QOD:

Uh, real Wanda.

Khaki QOD:

That's what you are.

Khaki QOD:

I see it all.

Khaki QOD:

Now you argued it out step by step in that.

Khaki QOD:

Why is that of yours from the very moment that I fell on my shin.

Khaki QOD:

And you looked at the cut out at once.

Khaki QOD:

Your majestic man said to itself door scraper.

Khaki QOD:

And then you turned to and found the very door scrapper that donut.

Khaki QOD:

Did you stop there?

Khaki QOD:

No.

Khaki QOD:

Some people would have been quite satisfied, but not view.

Khaki QOD:

Your intellect when Dawn working.

Khaki QOD:

Ah, let me only justify the door that says you to yourself.

Khaki QOD:

And my theory is proved.

Khaki QOD:

And of course you found your doormat.

Khaki QOD:

You're so clever.

Khaki QOD:

I believe you could do anything you liked.

Khaki QOD:

says you that duel exists has played as if I saw it.

Khaki QOD:

There is nothing else remains to be done, but defend it.

Khaki QOD:

Wow.

Khaki QOD:

I've read about that sort of thing in books, but I've never

Khaki QOD:

come across it in real life.

Khaki QOD:

You ought to go where you'll be properly appreciated.

Khaki QOD:

You're simply a wasted here among us fellows.

Khaki QOD:

If I had your ad ratty, but as you haven't interrupted the rat rather unkindly.

Khaki QOD:

I suppose you're going to sit on the snow all night and talk.

Khaki QOD:

Get up at once and hang on to that bell pool you see there and ring

Khaki QOD:

hard as hard as you can while I have.

Khaki QOD:

While the rat attack the door with his stick.

Khaki QOD:

The mole spring up at the bell pool.

Khaki QOD:

Clutched it and swung there both feet.

Khaki QOD:

Well off the ground.

Khaki QOD:

And from quite a long way off, they could faintly hear a deep toned bell.

Khaki QOD:

Respond.

Khaki QOD:

This was chapter three of the wind in the willows by Kenneth Graham.

Khaki QOD:

Read for you by cocky your faithful fireside companion.

Khaki QOD:

You can find many more stories on the web@thevoice.dog, or find the

Khaki QOD:

show wherever you get to a podcast.

Khaki QOD:

Thank you.

Khaki QOD:

For keeping us company at the fireside in 2021.

Khaki QOD:

Thank you for listening.

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About the Podcast

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The Voice of Dog
Furry stories to warm the ol' cockles, read by Rob MacWolf and guests. If you have a story that would suit the show, you can get in touch with @VoiceOfDog@meow.social on Mastodon, @voiceofdog.bsky.social on Blue Sky, or @Theodwulf on Telegram.

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Khaki