One day, the little Mole poked his head out from underground to see whether the sun had already risen…
Then it happened!

(It looked a little like a sausage, and the worst thing was that it landed right on his head.)

“How mean!” cried the little mole.
“Who has done this on my head?”
(But he was so shortsighted that he couldn’t see anyone around.)

“Did you do this on my head?” he asked the dove, who was flying past. “Me? No, how could I? I do it like this!” she answered. (And splish, plish – a moist white blob landed on the ground right next to the little mole. His right leg was splashed with white.)

“Did you do this on my head?” he asked the horse, who was grazing in the pasture. “Me? No, how could I? I do it like this!” (And flump, plump-five big fat horsey apples plopped down within a hair’s breadth of the mole. He was very impressed.)

“Did you do this on my head?” he asked the hare. “Me? No, how could I? I do it like this!” answered the hare. (And rat-a-tat-tat-fifteen little round beans shot past the mole’s ears. He saved himself with a daring leap.)

“Did you do this on my head?” he asked the goat (who had been dreaming a little). “Me? No, how could I? I do it like this!” she replied. (And plippety plop-a pile of toffee-coloured little balls tumbled on the grass. The little mole found them almost appealing.)

“Did you do this on my head?” he asked the cow, who was chewing the cud. “Me? No, how could I? I do it like this!” (And kersplosh-a big brownish-green pancake flopped into the grass just next to the mole. He was very relieved that it hadn’t been the cow who had done something on his head.)

“Did you do this on my head?” he asked the pig. “Me? No, how could I? I do it like this!” replied the pig. (And plop, splat-a little, soft brown pile fell on to the grass. The mole held his nose.)

“Did you do this on my …?” he was going to ask again. But as he came closer, he saw only two big, fat black flies. And they were eating. “At last-someone who will be able to help me!” thought the mole. “Who did this on my head?” he asked excitedly.

“Keep nice and still,” buzzed the flies.
There was a short pause. And then: “It is clear to us that it was A DOG.”
Finally the little mole knew who had done the business on his head-
Hans Heinrich, the butcher’s dog! Quick as a flash, he climbed on to Hans Heinrich’s kennel…..

(And pling-a tiny black sausage landed right on top of the dog’s head.)
Satisfied at last, the little mole disappeared happily into his hole underground.