French Drain, by Ruby

“My uncle sent this picture of my brother Murphy to Mary.  They were blah, blah, blahing about digging and some drain made in France.  I mean, I’m looking at how gray he is and how fabulous that toy is and how great that hole looks for burying his treasures.”

Murphy

“Any who, I guess he got in trouble.  IDK, it’s what we do.  I just don’t understand the draaama every time we make a new hole.  Maybe, if there were some ground rules (ha ha, get it?  I crack myself up), we could stop some of the draaama.  Like, only dig in the gardens, not the grass.  Or, never dig in the same place twice so the grass can grow.  Or, never dig in the back yard where the kids play, only dig in the front.   There are enough other rules you expect us to obey, so why not some pertaining to this?  We’re smart.  I am anyway.  I could learn them and then decide for myself if they are worth following.”

“Poor Murph, he looks contrite.  I don’t get that either.  I mean, we dig.  Get over it!”

Ruby's at it again!