The harry and the tortoise

It was the day of the big run to raise money for charity. The older ones ran on the racecourse. Luckily, there were no horses around. Otherwise they would have been squashed. The runners not the horses.


The brothers did their bit. They ran fast and went for miles. I thought they weren't coming back. Like the Quails. But they did.

We had a toddler's race. It was in my back garden. On my home track. There was Harry and me. Harry is 2. He was the favourite. He had toddled before but not in my garden.


He started fast. I started slow. He raced round the first corner. I took my first step. He raced round the second corner. I took my second step. He was at the third. Then he fell. Flat on the ground. I picked up speed. His mum picked Harry up. She dusted him down. I was catching up. Corners came and went.

I was in my stride. Toddling flat out. It had never been so easy. I was going so fast. The wind raced past my cheeks. I sped past the duster and the dusted. I was flying. The crowd shouted "go anna, go anna". Quicker and quicker I went. Legs going backwards and forwards. The robin was singing. The chickens clucking. I dived over the finish.

Harry didn't finish. He didn't restart. I gave him some cake. It cheered him up.


I saw Little John. He smiled. Now he knows I can run and dance.