Slim slammed the mailbox shut that’s kind of a tongue-twister, isn’t it? And turned onto the little road that led to his house. When we reached the front door, he pushed it open and said, “Get in there, dogs, and catch a mouse.”
I went streaking inside. Drover went inside too, but he didn’t “streak.” He lollygagged around, as he ususally does, and at that speed he couldn’t catch a mouse even if the mouse threw up his hands and surrendered.
Paws, I guess. Threw up his paws. Mice don’t have hands, see.