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Scribe
Join Date: Sep 2004
Posts: 52
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Collaring My Puppy
Hi, I tried cleaning up this story a bit. I still don't know what to make of it.
Collaring My Puppy
Like most eight-year-olds, I wanted a puppy. And there was a time when I relentlessly pestered my parents for one. Sometimes I’d ask them two or three times a day, yet their answer never changed. Eventually I abandoned all hope until unexpectedly my two older sisters, who knew I longed for one, decided to become involved.
My sisters surprised me one evening while I was doing homework in our kitchen. Phyillis, fifteen, and Betty, fourteen, called me from their bedroom. “Johnny, come in here,” they said excitedly, “We have a puppy for you.” Dropping my pencil, I dashed into their room, hoping not to be disappointed.
While no puppy was visible, I did see a sight that led me believe they had one: both girls were standing outside their clothes closet. And, because of that, I assumed there had to be a puppy hidden inside. Enthused, I rushed for the closet and ordered the girls to take out the pup so I could hold it.
Giggling, the two asked me if I wanted to pet it; and after I nodded, Phyillis grabbed my wrist, opened the door slightly, and thrust my arm into the closet. Holding my wrist, she guided my hand along the closet’s bottom. First, I felt a sneaker; then I touched a crumpled sweater; next I bumped against a handbag; finally my hand rested on something furry.
With Phyillis still holding my wrist, I began stroking the puppy’s soft coat. But petting it wasn’t satisfying me--I wanted to cuddle it. Breaking from her grasp, I turned to Phyillis and said, “Take it out of the closet so I can hold it.” She said quickly, “If you get permission from mommy, then we’ll let you have it.”
Facing my last hurdle, I ran into the kitchen and found my mother sipping coffee. “Mom,” I said, eagerly, “Phyillis and Betty have a puppy for me inside. Can I keep it?” My mom's expression answered the question. ”Please, mom,” I said, trying to change her mind. “Please, please,” I said, my voice crackling, as I started to cry.
While I cried, my mother rose from her chair and stared suspiciously into the girls’ room. Suddenly, an outburst of laughter, so loud, that it drowned my crying erupted from the room. My mom, who, all along, suspected mischief by the girls, pushed aside her chair and stormed into the room, with me following closely behind.
“What are you girls doing? What puppy?” she said angrily, when she cornered them. Both girls, laughing hysterically, rushed past her to seek refuge in another room. With the closet now unguarded, I ran from my mom’s side and headed toward it. Then reaching inside with both hands, I pulled out my puppy—a faux fur collar.
Last edited by Robinjazz : 11-11-2008 at 12:44 PM.
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