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We led a marvellous life - until today. Just us two animals, my sister and me.

After days of rain, this morning the sun was shining bright, pretending it was spring. As soon as we'd gobbled up the food that the Zims, our two owners (dromes - kind but stupid) put down for us, we rushed to the creek at the bottom of the farm.

For hours we rolled in the mud. At the bottom of the paddock where sheeparoos go down to the stream, the mud had gone all squelchy. It felt marvellously cool and smooth, and whenever it caked too thick on us, we'd tear up the hill and roll and slide back down. Then some of the mud would come off our pelts, and the sun would warm us up.

While we were doing this, a lone sheeparoo appeared, at the top of the hill on Hanny's side. It kept bleating at us.

"What do you think it's saying?" I asked Zicky.

"Telling us to calm down and suck some grass. IS THAT RIGHT?" she yelled at it.

"Baaaaaaaaa," it answered.

"Baggy old sheeparoo!" said Zicky. "Fun is one thing they'll never understand. And sheepy, what are you doing by yourself? You'll be in big trouble with Hanny, for running away."

We slid around a bit more, but we were getting bored with it. Then the sun got bored too, and hid behind a cloud. Suddenly, the mud felt heavy and cold.

"We need something warm to rub this mud off us," I complained.

"There's a perfectly good sheeparoo up there," Zicky pointed out. The same one was still up the hill, head down, frantically chewing grass. It looked so warm and comfortable, with that thick blue fur. But of course it would never let us come near it.

"See how it's standing under a tree?" Zicky said.

"So?"

"We climb the tree from the other side, then we jump onto its back."

"It's a long, long way down."

"Don't be such a baby, Keddy."

So we sneaked up the hill, downwind of the sheeparoo, and silently climbed the tree. Zicky pushed me up in front of her. We managed to get directly above the sheeparoo, and it still hadn't looked up - it was so busy with that mouth-watering clump of grass.

Now came the hard part: we both had to jump at once, because as soon as it felt something land on its back, it would take off. It wasn't as far down as I'd thought. And the animal was huge: easily big enough for both of us. Zicky had a paw stretched out, almost touching me. I looked at her. She looked at me. She shoved me. Now!

And there we were, on the sheeparoo, gripping its wool as tightly as we could. I was on its neck, Zicky was half on its tail, scrambling up while it bucked and reared. When it realized it couldn't shake us off, it let out a terrible bellowing cry, and lurched straight down the hill.

"This is really stretchy!" I said, laughing crazily.

"I'm going to fall off," Zicky called. "Lean on its head - see if you can get it to run in that hole."

There's a big hole in the hillside, where a pine tree blew over last year, and a lot of dirt and stones came out around its roots. Hanny's drome had cut up the big branches and taken them away, but the roots and the stones were still there.

It its headlong rush down the hill, the sheeparoo saw the hole too late, and tried to veer to the left, giving an ear-shattering bleat. I dug my claws into the wool on its neck, and leaned to the left, as far as I could. Trying not to fall over, the sheeparoo leaned too far the other way, and crashed into the hole, with a sickening bang. Its silly little front legs scrabbled away frantically, but it couldn't climb out. It was making a horrible wailing sound. I never heard a sheeparoo do that before.

"This is better," said Zicky. "It's stuck now. I think it's broken a leg or two. Shall we have a go at sucking its blood? Maybe I'll bite its throat, and put it out of its misery."

"No!" I said." Anyway, there's too much wool in the way." Now it was howling like a fox. I was scared.

"Let's clear out," said Zicky. "This sheepy's going to die. We'll be in trouble if we stick around."

"But we can't just leave it. Shouldn't we try and kick some of those rocks over it? So nobody will see it?"

"Why?" she shrugged. "Who cares if somebody sees it? Hanny will think it just dropped dead. He should look after his sheepies better. After all, he's meant to be a sheepdog, isn't he?"

She barked gruffly, imitating Hanny. We roared with laughter.

"Come on," she said. "I'm cold. Let's run up our bank, and warm ourselves in the sun."

In the afternoon, the sun disappears behind our hill, and it's too cold to keep playing in the mud. But at the top of a grassy bank, above the old road where it curves down to the creek, is a place we often go in winter. There's a dip in the grass on top of the bank which is perfect for us to lie on, and watch the scene below. It's sheltered from the wind, and stays sunny till the sun goes down over the hills far to the west. Beyond the hills is the plain of Adalada, and, right at the edge of the sea, the city of Glenelg. Sometimes we see lights shining there.

After we'd climbed the bank, we were tired, so we curled up for a rest. I was almost asleep, when Zicky said "What's that?"

"A zepper, of course," I said (not opening my eyes). "One of the neighbours going home."

"But who? I don't recognize it at all. And it's flying very low."

She was sitting up now, watching the zepper, holding a paw over her eyes to shade them from the sun. I looked up at her and laughed. Her fur was covered in patches of dry red mud. "It's coming lower," she reported. "The window's open. Two dromes inside. One's waving at us."

She waved a paw back. She was standing on her back legs now. I felt too lazy to wake up and look at the strange zepper. We often see them, and they don't interest me a whole lot. But Zicky is so curious.

"It's getting ready to land," she continued. "On the path, at the bottom of this bank. It's putting its legs down now. One of the dromes is getting out. He's holding something. It could be food. Hey! This is starting to look interesting!"

(The actual sound the drome made was more like "Kt*t|rpr*kr!pr~krp," but we understand dromeclicks well.)

"Come on down," said the other drome. "I've got something for you, boy."

The smell wafted up. Heavenly meat! I sat up, and looked over the top of the long grass.

"Bacon!" Zicky murmured. "Remember that side of bacon we took from Gerogery's smokehouse a few weeks ago?" She licked her lips. It was fine for her, but I was the one who had to wriggle through the hole under the smokehouse wall, and almost get caught.

"Ohhhhhhhhh," she howled (tossing her head back to smell it better). "I just LOOOOOOOOVE bacon."

"I think there's a second one up there!" the drome told the other drome. "I can see its head."

"One at a time," the other drome said.

"Come on down, boy," the first drome wheedled. I ducked down.

"Let's go after that bacon," Zicky said. "I'm starving. Get up, Keddy!"

But something was worrying me. Why would a strange drome stop and offer bacon to a couple of creatures up on a bank? "Wait," I said. "The sun's setting. It'll be foodtime soon."

"I can't wait," said Zicky - and she dashed down the bank in a few great bounds.

"Interesting piebald hide!" said the drome, as Zicky arrived. (The idiot didn't know mud when he saw it.) She was dancing around, leaping into the air, but the drome was holding the bacon just beyond her reach. Finally he picked her up with his other two arms, and let her have the bacon. As she wolfed it down, he turned her upside down and looked at the sole of her right back paw.

"Look!" he said to the other drome. "She IS a pedigree. Told you! See that freezemark?"

Zicky, having finished her small piece of bacon, struggled to get upright again, but the drome held her, laughing. Her legs kicked all over the place, and her toe ripped a piece of papypap stuck onto the side of the zepper.

"Want to come for a ride?" the second drome asked her. "There's more bacon in here."

Standing by the open door, he patted the sitting-couch. I saw Zicky look at him, and back to the other drome. If there's one thing she likes more than bacon, it's flying in the front of a zepper. She leapt in. So did the dromes. As the door closed, I saw the second one offer her another piece of bacon.

The yellow-grey zepper picked up its legs, slowly flapped its fins, and whooshed off. As it climbed, the breeze lifted the piece of papypap she'd torn, and I noticed a glyph underneath: it looked like a human with a potato for a head. Why did they stick papypap over the glyph? I wondered. To keep it clean, with all this mud around?

Zicky didn't even look back. She was angry with me, I knew, for not going with her. And now the zepper was disappearing over the hill, headed into the sunset - maybe to Noton Sumut or the drome-cities on the plains of Adalada.

The sun was leaving the bank. It was time to go home. I rubbed most of the mud off myself on the grass. I knew what would happen if I didn't: I'd be tossed straight into the washaw, which would spray me with hot water, scrub me with spinning brushes, and dry me with a hot wind. When you're cold, the washaw fells good, but when there's dry mud on you, those brushes don't stop till it hurts. Our Zims can be quite sadistic at times.

(Why do you call them Zims? Hanny asked me once. I don't know, I said. It's just one of those silly names of ours.) I walked home along the road, hoping that the zepper would come back with Zicky. It didn't. As I trudged up the driveway, Zinxniz was checking some of his plants.

"Hello, petface," he said, noticing me. He bent down to pat me on the head, then scooped me up into his huge arms. "What has he been up to today, this filthy grub? And what have you done with that sister of yours?"

"She's gone for a ride in a zepper," I informed him. "With some dromes I've never seen before."

"You're so cute when you're trying to tell me something," Zinxniz chuckled. It annoys me: he doesn't even try to understand.

He carried me inside, opened a tube of sausaus, and filled up my bowl and Zicky's. He remembered to fill our milk bowls, too. I showed great restraint in not touching Zicky's food, even though it was our favourite sausaus, from the red tube. She could turn up any time. Sometimes she stays out very late: she's not even scared of the dark. But I prefer to be inside, curled up on a drome's lap.

Tonight I couldn't relax. I hopped up and down off Zinxniz, and kept going to the glass doors to look out for Zicky. Finally Zinx got fed up, and wouldn't let me back on his lap. I was at the doors, snuffling a bit, when a zepper arrived, its green light piercing the night like a cat's eye. But it was only Tamomat, home late from one of her meetings.

"Zicky's not back," said Zinxniz.

"That's unlike her," said Tamomat, worried. "Do you think we should go and look for her?"

"I wouldn't know where to start looking. Goodness know what these two get up to. Did you hear about Gerogery's smokehouse?"

"Don't shout," I begged. "I'll tell you where she is." But of course, I couldn't.

"ZZZIIICCCKKKYYY!!!" Tam bellowed, standing in the doorway. She's so loud that it hurts. I have to put my paws over my ears. Zinxniz laughed: "Oh, the sensitive little petling." "If she doesn't come soon, she'll have to stay out all night," said Zinxniz. "It's too cold to leave the doors unsealed. There'll be a frost tonight."

"I do hope she's not hurt," said Tamomat.

I shook my head vigorously, but they didn't even understand that.

When the Zims went up to their bedroom, I padded down to the basement, to the basket I share with Zicky. Without her there to keep me warm, I was cold. I pulled our blanket over me with my paws, but I couldn't stop shivering, and couldn't sleep for worrying. I had a really baggy time.

Finally, in the middle of the night, I got up and climbed the wave-ramp, up to the Zims' room. At the top of the ramp I paused and listened. Last time I went up there, it was so embarrassing. They were lying on the floor end to end, mating, taking up most of the room, their six legs wrapped around each other, while they waved their feelers furiously and made funny little noises. Trying to make a dromlin. They've been doing that for hundreds of years. I don't know why they don't give up. Pets are a lot more fun than dromlins. But tonight, Zinx was sitting at the picture table, drawing one of his seaweed diagrams for dromes far away. Tamomat was lying on the enormous bed, lazily rotating her feeler, while a kaleidobook read itself to her.

I wanted to be with Tam, to cuddle up against her warmth. If I climb up the curtain, I can easily jump down onto the bed. But if I do that, I usually get kicked off. So I stood there whimpering, pulling at the end of her kilt.

Finally she noticed me.

"OK," she mumbled, dragging me up with a huge hand. "You can lie on my lap, as long as you keep still."

"What did you say?" asked Zinxniz, not looking up from his seaweed.

"Just Keddy. I guess he's missing Zicky."

"You guessed right!" I confirmed. "I'm really worried about her."

Zinxniz laughed. "Wouldn't you swear he was trying to talk? Tam, aren't humans such funny little things?"