Mischa has been OK in her crate this morning so far – at first she was crying, then she was barking, then I think she fell asleep, but now she’s crying again.
Not long now, poochie. I don’t want you to eat a bolt or learn how to hammer your way out of here.
there’s three of them here now, and it’s like a drill and hammer orchestra. i don’t mind the noise, i mean – how else would you get through brick and wall? with a toothpick? (naw, you go with a cottonbud tip for this job!)
they’re speaking in a different language, one that i don’t understand, but i wonder whether if there’s something they don’t want me to know. i don’t mind if you speak in whatever language you’re comfortable with. i speak jibberish and gobedygook all the time. (Regan hates it).
they’ve just arrived.