Not me. I sing only in church—where people are honor bound to forgive me. Nell sings. Loud, long, drawn out “woooo-woooo” wails. Too funny! I am told it’s a retriever thing.
I have photos of Miss Nell for you, but I am still trying to understand the intricacies of Hello and BloggerBot. No puppies yet, and she is annoying Toby mightily.
Meanwhile, NaNoWriMo is well underway. I wrote about 1100 words this morning, and about as many this evening. While some aspiring novelists want to display their works in progress, others—like me and like one of my correspondents who notes, nobody ever said these words have to be good—are more inclined to limit our postings to, say, the last paragraph written for the day. Or maybe a different excerpt. So here you are.
“Oh, gee,” Max repeated, looking as if he wanted to be somewhere else, anywhere else.
Al took pity on him, reflecting that it was remarkable how often she had felt responsible for other people’s feelings in the last day, given that this was her crisis. Looking across the lawn, she picked the first person she saw and made a quick bid for escape: “Oh, look, there’s Rosie, now. Maybe I will check out her news. Catch ya later, Max. Be good, Joshua.” And she strode off in Rosie’s direction.