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T-minus 25 days to DEADLINE.
May. 6th, 2011 03:41 pmBerkeley, California. June 11th, 2014.
"Phillip! Time to come in for lunch!" Stacy Mason stood framed by the back door of their little Berkeley professor's home (soon to be fully paid-off, and wouldn't that be a day for the record books?), wiping her hands with a dishrag and scanning the yard for her wayward son. Phillip didn't mean to be naughty, not exactly, but he had the attention span of a toddler, which was to say, not much of an attention span at all. "Phillip!"
Giggling from the fence alerted her to his location. With a sigh that was half-love, half-exasperation, Stacy turned to toss the dishrag onto the counter before heading out into the yard. "Where are you, Mister Man?" she called.
More giggling. She pushed through the tall tomato plants—noting idly that they needed to be watered before the weekend if they wanted to have any fruit before the end of the month—and found her son squatting in the middle of the baby lettuce, laughing as one of the Golden Retrievers from next door calmly washed his face with her tongue. Stacy stopped, biting back her own laughter at the scene.
"A conspiracy of misbehavior is what we're facing here," she said.
Phillip turned to face her, all grins, and said, "Ma!"
"Yes."
"Oggie!"
"Again, yes. Hello, Marigold. Shouldn't you be in your own yard?"
The Golden Retriever thumped her tail sheepishly against the dirt, as if to say that yes, she was a very naughty dog, but in her defense, there had been a small boy with a face in need of washing.
Stacy sighed, shaking her head in good-natured exasperation. She'd talked to the Connors family next door about their dogs dozens of times, and they tried, but Marigold and Maize simply refused to be confined by any fence or gate that either family had been able to put together. It would have been more of a problem if they hadn't been such sweet, sweet dogs. Since both Marigold and her brother adored Phillip, it was more like having convenient canine babysitters right next door. She just wished they wouldn't make their unscheduled visits so reliably at lunchtime.
"All right, you. Phillip, it's time for lunch. Time to say good-bye to Marigold."
Phillip nodded before turning and throwing his arms around Marigold's neck, burying his face in her fur. His voice, muffled but audible, said, "Bye-time, oggie." Marigold wuffed once, for all the world like she was accepting his farewell. Duty thus done, Phillip let her go, stood, and ran to his mother, who caught him in a sweeping hug that left streaks of mud on the front of her cotton shirt. "Ma!"
"I just can't get one past you today, can I?" she asked, and kissed his cheek noisily, making him giggle. "You go home, now, Marigold. Your people are going to worry. Go home!"
Tail wagging amiably, the Golden Retriever stood and went trotting off down the side yard. She probably had another loose board there somewhere; something to have Michael fix when he got home from school and could be sweet-talked into doing his share of the garden chores. In the meanwhile, the dogs weren't hurting anything, and Phillip did love them.
"Come on, Mister Man. Let's go fill you up with peanut butter and jelly, shall we?" She kissed him again, and his giggles provided sweet accompaniment to their walk back to the house. Maybe it was time to talk about getting him a dog of his own.
Maybe when he was older.
***
Professor Michael Mason joins our Biology Department from the University of Redmond, where he taught for three years. His lovely wife, Stacy, is a horticulture fan, and his son, Phillip, is a fan of cartoons and chasing pigeons...
When will you Rise?
"Phillip! Time to come in for lunch!" Stacy Mason stood framed by the back door of their little Berkeley professor's home (soon to be fully paid-off, and wouldn't that be a day for the record books?), wiping her hands with a dishrag and scanning the yard for her wayward son. Phillip didn't mean to be naughty, not exactly, but he had the attention span of a toddler, which was to say, not much of an attention span at all. "Phillip!"
Giggling from the fence alerted her to his location. With a sigh that was half-love, half-exasperation, Stacy turned to toss the dishrag onto the counter before heading out into the yard. "Where are you, Mister Man?" she called.
More giggling. She pushed through the tall tomato plants—noting idly that they needed to be watered before the weekend if they wanted to have any fruit before the end of the month—and found her son squatting in the middle of the baby lettuce, laughing as one of the Golden Retrievers from next door calmly washed his face with her tongue. Stacy stopped, biting back her own laughter at the scene.
"A conspiracy of misbehavior is what we're facing here," she said.
Phillip turned to face her, all grins, and said, "Ma!"
"Yes."
"Oggie!"
"Again, yes. Hello, Marigold. Shouldn't you be in your own yard?"
The Golden Retriever thumped her tail sheepishly against the dirt, as if to say that yes, she was a very naughty dog, but in her defense, there had been a small boy with a face in need of washing.
Stacy sighed, shaking her head in good-natured exasperation. She'd talked to the Connors family next door about their dogs dozens of times, and they tried, but Marigold and Maize simply refused to be confined by any fence or gate that either family had been able to put together. It would have been more of a problem if they hadn't been such sweet, sweet dogs. Since both Marigold and her brother adored Phillip, it was more like having convenient canine babysitters right next door. She just wished they wouldn't make their unscheduled visits so reliably at lunchtime.
"All right, you. Phillip, it's time for lunch. Time to say good-bye to Marigold."
Phillip nodded before turning and throwing his arms around Marigold's neck, burying his face in her fur. His voice, muffled but audible, said, "Bye-time, oggie." Marigold wuffed once, for all the world like she was accepting his farewell. Duty thus done, Phillip let her go, stood, and ran to his mother, who caught him in a sweeping hug that left streaks of mud on the front of her cotton shirt. "Ma!"
"I just can't get one past you today, can I?" she asked, and kissed his cheek noisily, making him giggle. "You go home, now, Marigold. Your people are going to worry. Go home!"
Tail wagging amiably, the Golden Retriever stood and went trotting off down the side yard. She probably had another loose board there somewhere; something to have Michael fix when he got home from school and could be sweet-talked into doing his share of the garden chores. In the meanwhile, the dogs weren't hurting anything, and Phillip did love them.
"Come on, Mister Man. Let's go fill you up with peanut butter and jelly, shall we?" She kissed him again, and his giggles provided sweet accompaniment to their walk back to the house. Maybe it was time to talk about getting him a dog of his own.
Maybe when he was older.
***
Professor Michael Mason joins our Biology Department from the University of Redmond, where he taught for three years. His lovely wife, Stacy, is a horticulture fan, and his son, Phillip, is a fan of cartoons and chasing pigeons...
When will you Rise?
