Last night Nemo and I were racing to see who could jump on the bed first. We launched from slightly different angles and you remember what Sancho said in the musical Man From La Mancha. “Whether the stone hits the pitcher or the pitcher hits the stone, it’s going to be bad for the pitcher.” We collided in midair and I ended up flat on my back on the floor. It was a little like being hit by a moose, but I survived and grabbed the squeaky chicken right out of Nemo’s open mouth. We wrestled and squeaked into the night because Momma Dog and VOG left us twice yesterday and I had a lot of energy to burn off.
“Hey Moose, er, I mean Nemo, where’s the chicken?”
Huck