Nihal Arthanayake - Dogs Don't Do Ballet CBeebies Bedtime Stories


Nihal Arthanayake - Dogs Don't Do Ballet

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Hello, my name is Nihal.

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I've come to read you a bedtime story and tonight is one of my favourites.

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It's called Dogs Don't Do Ballet and it's by Anna Kemp

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with pictures by Sara Ogilvie.

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My dog is not like other dogs.

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He doesn't do dog stuff, like weeing on lampposts,

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scratching his fleas,

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or drinking out of the toilet. Ugh.

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If I throw him a stick, he looks at me like I'm crazy,

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so I have to fetch it myself.

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No, my dog likes music and moonlight

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and walking on his tiptoes.

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You see, my dog doesn't think he's a dog.

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My dog thinks he's a ballerina.

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When I get ready for ballet class, he looks longingly at my tutu

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and ballet shoes and I just know he's dreaming of his name in lights.

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"Dad?" I say, "Can Biff come, too? He loves ballet."

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"Not a chance." says Dad.

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"Dogs don't do ballet."

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Then, one Saturday on my way to class, I get a funny feeling.

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A funny feeling that I am being watched.

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A funny feeling that I am being followed.

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When Miss Polly is teaching us a new routine,

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I think I see something peeking in at the window.

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Something with a wet nose.

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Something with a tail.

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"Right, girls." says Miss Polly.

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"Who's going to demonstrate first position?"

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But before anyone can step forward,

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there is a loud bark from the back of the hall

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and something furry rushes to the front.

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"What is this?" asks Miss Polly, peering over her glasses.

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"This," I say, "is my dog."

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"Well, take it away at once," says Miss Polly wrinkling up her nose.

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"Dogs don't do ballet."

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BIFF WHIMPERS

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My poor dog stops wagging his tail

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and his ears drooped down at the ends.

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I take my dog home and give him a bowl of Doggy Donuts,

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but he won't touch them.

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He just stays in his kennel for days and days and at night,

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he howls at the moon.

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For my birthday, I get tickets for the Royal Ballet.

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"Can Biff come, too?" I asked Dad. "He loves ballet!"

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My dog pricks up his ears and wags his tail.

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"No," says Dad. "If I've told you once, I've told you 1,000 times,

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"dogs don't do ballet."

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As we wait for the bus, I think about my poor old dog all on his own

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howling at the moon.

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Then I get a funny feeling, a funny feeling that I'm being watched.

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A funny feeling that I'm not alone.

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BIFF PANTS

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The ballet is magical.

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The orchestra plays as the prima ballerina dances and prances

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and twirls and whirls and skips and...

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Oh, no! She trips!

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Disaster. Calamity!

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It's all over, I think.

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But somebody doesn't think it is over.

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No, somebody thinks it is just beginning.

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Somebody with big, black eyes.

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Somebody with pointy ears.

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Somebody wearing my tutu!

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The audience gasps.

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"It's a dog!" someone shouts.

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"Dogs don't do ballet!"

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My dog turns bright red and looks at his feet.

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"That's what I've always said," Dad mutters.

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But then the orchestra starts to play

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and my dog dances like no dog has ever danced before.

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Plie, jete, arabesque, pirouette.

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He is as light as a Sugar Puff. As pretty as a fairy.

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The audience can't believe it. "Hurray!" I shout. "That's my dog!"

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When the music stops, my dog gives a hopeful curtsy

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and blinks nervously into the spotlight.

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The theatre is so very quiet that you could hear a bubble pop.

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Then, the lady in the front row stands up.

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"It's a dog!" she shouts. Biff's ears start to droop again.

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"A dog that does ballet!" she adds.

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"Bravo!"

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Suddenly, the whole audience cheers and throws bunches of roses.

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My dog glows pink with happiness.

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"I don't believe it!" says Dad, shaking his head.

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"Biff is a ballerina, after all."

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"See?" I say proudly, ruffling Biff's ears, "Dogs do do ballet."

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"Bravo, Biff!"

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That story was called Dogs Don't Do Ballet.

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And as we found out, actually, some dogs do.

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Good on you, Biff.

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I hope you enjoyed the story as much as I did.

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But it's time now for you to get tucked up in bed.

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I'll be back again soon to read you another bedtime story.

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Goodnight.

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