The Quick Brown Fox
The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog. The fox bounds through the thicket and deeper into the safety of the lush forest. His heart pounds in his furry chest and his muscles burn with exertion. He can hear the baying of the hounds in the distance. The pack rushes to catch up, but their bulk works against them here. Digging deep and letting the primal need for survival take over, the fox pushes on, tearing up swathes of earth with each graceful stride.
The lazy dog bemoans the flash of brown and white as it darts overhead. Laying in the meadow with the brilliance of the sun shining down was how she preferred to spend her days. After the sheep and cattle were herded, the dog tended to slink away to her favorite place by the stream. Seeing the fox dash by in such a rush only irritated her. She wouldn't give chase, but only because a patch of grass under the shade of her favorite willow was calling her name.
The pack tore after the vermin with every bit of ferocity they could muster. Their breath was ragged and the heat rolled off their short sweaty pelts. Numbering a dozen strong, they ate as one, slept as one, and hunted as one. Only in the chase did they feel a sense of purpose. The shouts of the master atop his thundering horse behind them only encouraged them. They would find the vermin even if it meant chasing him to the ends of the earth.