The high-priced biscuits are arranged in a pattern on the lawn.
“What are you doing, Jamie? Food gets contaminated.”
“I’m writing a pictorial story, Mom, not eating characters.”
But Puppy did not seem to care about stories. He took a mouthful, while Jamie spoke to me.
Jamie’s scream is heart-rending, as he slaps the guilty-looking dog.
“He has eaten up Gretel…”
“Well, that’s just a twist in the story. Now take it ahead to where it goes.”
The biscuits are now on the kitchen table.
“Mom, teach me how to bake. I wanna write a new story.”