Puck's Hair Cut

It was time for Puck to get a hair cut. The fluff of blond waves at the back of his scalp had become too poofy. They had to come off. Mom held him while Carrie did the job. Puck watched in amazement as the sheared patches fell to the floor.
Meanwhile, the Trooper was suffering. The house stunk a great stench from his flea-bitten skin. Finally, when the Febreeze mist, scented candles, and open windows weren’t enough to calm the horrific wreak, Mom took him to the vet. He returned, still miserable, but with medications to cure his poor aching body. Even Collette, who had never much liked dogs, felt sorry for him. He collapsed on the dining room floor, quarantined until further notice, and Mom set a small fan on the floor by his face to help cool his misery.
Mom had also been busy redecorating with autumn colors, as usual: pine cones, harvest wreaths, and scare-a-crows, one of which was almost Puck’s height.
“Look, he’s talking to it,” Linnea giggled.
He was, indeed, rambling on about something to it, looking him square in the eye as though his corn-husk stuffed brain understood every word.
Then Puck took up an old toy gun and hustled around shooting the ceiling.
“Doom! Doom!” he cried. “Gome! Gome!”

“Abraham hounded out an eastern traveler because he blasphemed the living God.
“At night an angel came in quest of the aforesaid guest.
“’I sent him forth in the wilderness for taking the Lord’s name in vain.’”
“The affable archangel answered, ‘Thus saith the Lord, your God: Have I borne with this man lo! this many years – could you not bear with him one night?’”
– excerpt from Mary Chesnut’s Civil War