Chetspeak (Or Sundays With Chet)
We went home. I loved home and hadn’t been there in way too long. While Bernie got the mail out of the box and flipped through it – lines appearing on his forehead, meaning lots of bills – I ran around the lawn sniffing for trespassers. And did we have them, in spades. Spades are a kind of shovel, which I know on account of this perp who once swung one at Bernie and was now wearing an orange jump suit at Central State, somewhere in all that being the connection between spades and trespassers, but why worry where exactly? Instead I followed the scents: squirrel, bird, the mailman, toad, and several of my guys, including – Iggy? Was it possible Iggy had been out? I hadn’t smelled Iggy in a long time, couldn’t be sure. I glanced over at Iggy’s place and at that very moment he ran up to the window and saw me. He started barking that yip-yip-yip, got his front paws up against the glass, lost his balance and tumbled out of sight.
From Thereby Hangs A Tail.
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