Waylon wolfed down his biscuit with an appreciative full-butt wiggle. “Ouch! Damn it!” “Waylay! Language!” I yelled. “Sorry!” she called back. “Busted,” Knox sang not quite quietly enough. “Knox!” “Sorry!” I shook my head. “What are we going to do with them?” I asked Waylon. The dog belched and wagged his tail.
