
My recent attempts to stomp straight out the door and down the alley have landed me back in this silly purple thing. Acting old and feeble and pretending I wanted to stay next to you had you fooled for a few backyard-visits so far this summer, but I suppose nothing lasts forever.
You've got to admit that I have always come when you called me. Like a dog, you've always liked to say. It's not my problem that when your mouth moves, you no longer make sound. But then nobody does any more. That is a little weird, actually.
Oh well, purple thing or not, there's still grass. Aaaaahhhhh.