I have a pet at home. It's a dog. His name in Kilimanjaro. It's a big name; but the dog is a big dog, too. Why did we give him this name? Because in the year when I got the dog, all dogs' names had to begin with the letter ‘K', and I knew the name Kilimanjaro from a map.
Kilimanjaro – Kill, for short- is a very good sort of dog when he has a large garden in which to run around. But our flat is too small for him.
This morning, after breakfast, I saw all the cups flying off the table down to the floor: it was Kill's work.
A minute later I heard a great noise in the garden: it was Kill running after the cat. The cat was up a tree, and Kill was at the foot, as if he was saying: “Come down and play with me!”
When Kill likes you, he gives you his paw – and you fall back, sitting on the floor.
But I like dogs: they are very good friends. They do not say unpleasant things to you, and when they look at you, there is a warm light in their eyes.
