Hey, Winston. Come here.
You didn’t finish telling your story the other day. When you took over the blog and showed a picture of my foot. In a splint. With ice on it. In that blue towel.
You’re supposed to finish telling the story.
But I said it wasn’t my fault. That’s about it.
Well, no, not really. The world doesn’t revolve around you my precious boy.
I’m not quite sure what that means, but as long as I’m in the clear, there’s not much else to tell. Besides, if it doesn’t have to do with me, then it doesn’t really matter. Right?
We’ll see what happens after I visit the orthopedic specialist tomorrow. Maybe you’ll have a new picture to post.
Why? Is your foot going somewhere? That’d be terrible because then I wouldn’t be able to bite your feet while I chase them. Because you’d be one less foot to bark at. That’d be just awful. I love doing that! But, remember, I didn’t make you hurt your foot. You did that all by yourself while I did what you told me. And watched. You told me to sit and stay. And that’s what I did.
Oh boy. You’ll get the hang of this story telling thing one day. Until then, you’d better stay away from my crutches.
Friends, seems like we’ve been here before. As some of you have pointed out.
Stay tuned. Winston will have to figure how to tell stories.