From the moment Robodog trundled into the Lost Patrol’s shed, fur flew.

It was the messiest place in the whole of the Police Dog School. Despite the chief’s strict rules for the dogs to keep the school tidy, the floor was thick with a carpet of:

Robodog trundled into the shed and announced, “This shed is a health hazard! It must be deep-cleaned immediately.”

The Lost Patrol protested.

“That slipper won’t chew itself!” exclaimed Plank.

“If you don’t do any dusting, after the first couple of years, the dust doesn’t get any worse!” reasoned Gristle.

“I would love to help, but I am afraid of dirt,” added Scarper.

Robodog was having none of it. His laser eye glowed red, and beams of light shot out.

In moments, the offending items were burned to a crisp. All that remained dotted across the floor were little piles of ash.

“NOOO!” cried the three.

“Now, Lost Patrol, I must turn my attention to you!” said Robodog.

The three dogs backed into a corner with their paws up. They were trying their best to hide behind each other. Were they about to suffer the same fate as their rubbish?

“DON’T BLAST ME! BLAST HIM!” yelled Scarper, pointing to Gristle. “HE’S MUCH MORE BLASTABLE!”

Robodog shook his head. “No. I am not going to blast any of you. I am going to teach all three of you to become the best police dogs you can be!”

“Oh! So that’s what we’re at school for!” exclaimed Plank. “To become police dogs? No one told me!”

The other two shook their heads. If there were medals for silly dogs, Plank would win gold.

“My name is Robodog. Fellow dogs, please introduce yourselves.”

“Well, I am Scarper,” began Scarper, “but we are not your fellow dogs.”

The other two members of the Lost Patrol stared at him. Where was all this going?

“And why is that?” demanded Robodog.

“You are not a real dog!” said Scarper.

The robot dog fell silent. Even his constant whirrs and clicks stopped.

“Not a real dog? Does not compute,” he said.

“We are real dogs. We chase balls, we chew sticks, we dig for bones, we make a mess, we blow off,” explained Scarper.

“HA! HA!” laughed Plank and Gristle.

“What is that sound you are making?” asked Robodog.

“Laughter!” exclaimed Gristle. “It is a sound you make at something funny.”

“What was funny?” asked Robodog.

“When Scarper said ‘blow off’,” said Plank. “Blow-offs are always funny!”

“Are they? Why?”

“If you don’t know what’s funny about blowing off, then you will never, ever, ever be a real dog!” said Scarper.

“Of course I am a dog!” protested Robodog. “I am Robodog!”

“You are not a dog!” said Scarper. “And you never, ever will be!”

Then the strangest thing happened. A drop of oil welled in Robodog’s eye.

“What is that?” asked Plank.

“It looks like a tear,” replied a surprised Scarper. “But it can’t be. Robodog’s not even a real dog! He can’t be sad! It’s impossible!”

Robodog was feeling something for the first time in his short life. Up to this point, he had only had thoughts. But now something was burning deep inside him. Sadness. It was overwhelming and confusing all at once. Feelings began piling up on top of each other. Suddenly, he felt…ashamed, as if he needed to hide that he was feeling sad. So Robodog did another thing he’d never done before.

He lied.

“MALFUNCTION! MALFUNCTION! MALFUNCTION!” he repeated over and over in his robotic voice. To add to the performance, he began circling backwards as if he were chasing his own tail.

“MALFUNCTION! MALFUNCTION! MALFUNCTION!”

Robodog bashed into a bowl…

KLANK!

…walloped into a wall…

KLUNK!

…and banged into Plank, who was laid out on the floor in a pool of her slobber.

WHOOMP!

“OOF!”

After creating as much mess as there was before, Robodog trundled out of the shed.