about my dog | Quizalize

好的，根據您提供的表格 [NEW SOURCE]，以下是表格中例句的中文意思： * **1. all** * **全部的**：**All** my friends were here with me. (我所有的朋友當時都在這裡。) * **全部**：**All** of us enjoyed the movie. (我們所有人都很喜歡這部電影。) * **都**：He got **all** wet. (他全身都濕透了。) * **2. along** * **沿著**：We walked **along** the river yesterday evening. (我們昨天傍晚沿著河邊散步。) * **帶……一起**：When my mother goes out, she takes my little brother **along**. (我媽媽外出時，會帶著我的小弟弟一起去。) * **3. angle** * **觀點**：We should look at the problems from different **angles**. (我們應該從不同的觀點來看待這些問題。) * **角度**：The picture is hanging at an **angle** of 45°. (這張畫以 45 度的角度懸掛著。) * **4. answer** * **答案**：Do you know the **answer** to the question? (你知道這個問題的答案嗎？) * **回答；回應**：Could you **answer** the phone for me? (你可以幫我接一下電話嗎？) * **5. back** * **後面**：She wrote her cellphone number down on the **back** of the paper. (她把她的手機號碼寫在紙的背面。) * **後面的**：Open the **back** door, please. (請打開後面的門。) * **回原處**：It’s time to go **back** home. (該回家了。) * **6. bat** * **蝙蝠**：Did you ever see a **bat** flying quickly in the sky at night? (你曾經看過蝙蝠在夜空中快速飛行嗎？) * **球棒**：Swing the **bat** higher. (把球棒揮高一點。) * **擊**：It’s your turn to **bat**. (輪到你打擊了。) * **7. bite** * **一口的量**：Jane took a **bite** of the guava. (珍咬了一口芭樂。) * **咬**：The dog **bit** the woman’s leg. (那隻狗咬了那個女人的腿。) * **8. book** * **書**：I’ve just started reading a **book** by Stephen King. (我剛開始讀一本史蒂芬·金的書。) * **預訂；預約**：They **booked** two seats at the theater. (他們在劇院預訂了兩個座位。) * **9. block** * **街區**：Nancy and I live on the same **block**. (南希和我住在同一個街區。) * **阻擋**：Those heavy boxes **blocked** my way to the restroom. (那些沉重的箱子擋住了我去洗手間的路。) * **10. bow** * **蝴蝶結**：David chose a gray **bow** tie to go with his black suit. (大衛選擇了一個灰色蝴蝶領結來搭配他的黑色西裝。) * **鞠躬**：The actor **bowed** to everyone before he left the stage. (那位演員在離開舞台前向大家鞠躬。) * **11. break** * **暫停；休息**：I’m tired. Can we take a **break**? (我累了。我們可以休息一下嗎？) * **分解**：These plastic forks are hard to **break** down. (這些塑膠叉子很難分解。) * **打破**：The glass is very expensive. Don’t **break** it. (這個玻璃很貴。不要打破它。) * **12. bright** * **晴朗的**：It’s a **bright** morning. Why not take a walk along the river? (這是個晴朗的早晨。何不沿著河邊散步呢？) * **明亮的**：The room isn’t **bright** enough. Let’s not read here. (這個房間不夠明亮。我們不要在這裡閱讀。) * **13. call** * **打電話**：I got a **call** from my old friend last night. (我昨晚接到我老朋友的電話。) * **打電話**：Tina **called** me last night. We talked a lot about music. (蒂娜昨晚打電話給我。我們聊了很多關於音樂的事。) * **呼喊**：Listen! Is that a **call** for help? (聽！那是求救的呼喊嗎？) * **呼喊**：Why did you **call** my name then? (那你當時為什麼喊我的名字？) * **14. camp** * **營隊**：Patrick joined a science **camp** this summer. (派屈克今年夏天參加了一個科學營隊。) * **露營**：They **camped** by the river yesterday. (他們昨天在河邊露營。) * **15. case** * **箱；盒**：The kids drank the whole **case** of Coke. (孩子們喝掉了一整箱可樂。) * **實例；情況**：The number of new **cases** of Covid-19 is growing. (新冠肺炎的新增病例數正在增加。) * **16. catch** * **接球**：Nice **catch**! My good dog. (接得好！我的好狗狗。) * **罹患（病）**：My head hurts. I may **catch** a cold. (我頭痛。我可能感冒了。) * **抓住**：I didn’t **catch** the ball. (我沒有接到那個球。) * **17. change** * **零錢；找零**：I think you’ve given me the wrong **change**. (我想你找錯錢了。) * **改變；交換**：The leaves **change** (in color) from green to red in the fall. (秋天時，樹葉的顏色從綠色變成紅色。) * **18. clean** * **打掃；清理**：Tom **cleans** the toilet once a week. (湯姆一週打掃一次馬桶。) * **乾淨的**：The water isn’t **clean**. Don’t drink it. (這水不乾淨。不要喝。) * **19. close** * **關；闔**：**Close** your books, students. Let’s have a pop quiz. (同學們，把你們的書闔上。我們要進行隨堂測驗。) * **靠近地**：Jane sat **close** to her husband at the party. (在派對上，珍緊挨著她的丈夫坐著。) * **20. cold** * **感冒**：I had a **cold** a week ago. (我一個星期前感冒了。) * **寒冷的**：It was **cold** last night. (昨晚很冷。)

“On this night, we share a roof protecting us from fleets of inequity. Our unification promises a better tomorrow. Those larger than myself, sitting on their marble thrones, sipping blood from cups composed of human skin and singing songs of so-called virtue, grow weaker each moment. Their caravans are revolting. There is hope yet. There is progress! Though tonight may mark a countdown, it is still a celebration. Look at all we have done, not just for Trials but for Palatium Infra as a whole. In four years, when I’m no longer Sovereignty, the Spoiled Purity and his people will continue to strive. So drink! Smoke! Crush up those exotic plants and snort them! We will not falter, weaken, or wane. Our influence is expanding, and somebody new opens their eyes every day. Even the Silbys of Aculeus have reached alarming potentials despite their embittered minds. So long as you relish in tonight, dance, and pray to your “dead” Gods, our revolution shall rise beyond the bounds of class, and when I’m only a commoner, we shall rise again beyond our brainwashed adversaries! Cheers, my people. Cheers!” Followers raised their cups. Some clinked theirs together. Others stood still and screamed breathlessly in agreement. I smiled with courtesy, then stepped off my platform. My voice still rang across the cellar. Speeches before were grander. Those displays were supposed to be emptying, and yet this one left me bloated, swollen tight. I watched as they popped the corks of their bottles and chanted in the name of Purity. Maybe the quality of my words wasn’t what mattered to them anyway, so long as I screamed loud enough. There’s no merit in attacking your people, a voice corrected me. “That’s right,” I said aloud. “Knox, my-my Sovereign!” squealed a nearby devotee, jittering as he stuffed his face with catered pastries. He was one I’d never seen before or had failed to remember. “Look what I’ve found! It’s wine, and not the shoddy Infran kind, either. Earth-made with good fruit! I don’t know how anyone managed to get their hands on this. Maybe some space travel mischief.” He giggled and held up a small glass bottle. “How neat.” “I want you to have it, Sir.” I nodded my head. “Yes, of course. Thank you.” Backing off into the midst of rowdy disciples, I clutched the bottle. What a waste of grapes. It could have been jam instead. Earthly food had a superior taste, ripe with delicate intricacies and nostalgia, but Palatium Infra had mastered the art of alcohol. Why waste your time with a drunkenness so sad and sickening? The booze of trash. Not many more followers approached me. The barren peroration must have upset them. My hands itched to submerge into my suit pockets, and my legs stood suddenly numb, wobbling. Four more years until I’m nothing. But tonight, you are nothing. “Shut up,” I told myself. Tightly packed together in the corner of the dwelling sat the Sibyls. A mound of writhing fabric and tones of skin made up their unified silhouette. I snapped the strap of the nearest gown, balancing on my hands and knees, waving the bottle before them. In their almost rodent nature, narrow noses prodded my way. Their dresses wrinkled and fell to their ankles. Knees dropped, and eyes widened. Many grumbled at me like hungry she-beasts. Those newer ones with faded curtains for hair, sunken eyes, and dirtied nails looked, hid their face, then sobbed. I imagined them in a pack together, fighting wildly against the Spoiled Purity in their rat decorum–biting down with square teeth laced with rabies. “I’ve got you all something,” I said. “Go back off to your pedestal and yap some more. We don’t want it.” A woman rose from the pile and spat. “You don’t even know what it is yet. It's Earth hooch, or more likely a near-flawless replica. I figured you girls would also like a chance to enjoy yourselves tonight.” “Your playmates have been harassing us since the moment you hung the banners and opened the cellar door.” The youngest, with a striking cyan mop upon her head, uncoiled from the mass. What was she now? 20, 21? We celebrated a birthday recently, I thought as she spun around me. “I remember something about a promise. Multiple promises, actually. Are you trying to bribe us into just shutting up and taking it? Because if another sticky, 40-year-old, Earth-born virgin gropes my shoulder, I’m going to have an aneurysm!” the girl continued. “Why not an Infran follower? Do you like it when they touch you?” I returned her accusing tone. “I’m sorry, sweet prophets, that you feel I’ve neglected my duties. I’ll keep a better eye out. Remember, you can always just holler if somebody is bothering you. And Anwen, friend, if I’ve ever tried to bribe you with anything, it was certainly the hair dye. I mean, look at you! Such handsomeness!” I exclaimed. The other Siblys began to encircle her, uttering compliments or even announcements of their envy. Anwen disappeared in a wink with flushed cheeks back into the mound. “I’ll just leave this here.” Smiling, I set down the bottle. ** “141, 143. . .” I counted each step as I trekked the staircase. There was no doubt I lost track somewhere. The ledges kept spawning under my feet, infinitely multiplying until I wasn’t moving at all–swallowing me up in a whirlpool of stone. My tie still hung around my neck, and my blazer remained tied around my hips as a skirt. Streaks of red dribbled off from the cavity in my chest. It was a gorgeous marking, sensual to my fingertips as I traced its edges. Purity, oh, Purity. Purity and his wings of burnt skin. Purity and his many faces. Purity the spoiled. Purity the mutilated. The Silbys did not bother waiting for me. On bare feet, they stormed up the stairs to their room. A trail of red, though in paint unlike mine, streamed after them. None looked remotely near me as they squeaked and gossiped intangibly. I saved them, those Infran broads, enlightened them. As much as they liked to deny it, spit at me, and bask in the thought of their victimhood, in this home, they stood empowered. You’ve done well, my thoughts affirmed, though in the manner of an insincere commentator rather than a hype man. Teeth grace in tile violin goes laundry paper when. It dissolved into an intruding drivel. I rubbed my head and sniveled. “Do you need help, Knox?” called a Silby. Fattened by my coddling, her shadow fell upon me from the doorway steps ahead. I attempted counting again. There must’ve been at least another hundred between me and her. “I’m hallucinating some,” I said, breathing deeply to suppress a burp as I struggled to recall her name. Two syllables. Typically Latin, though sometimes English. Drops of slobber leaked from my mouth. “I’m hallucinating some, Tybal. Do you like your name, Tybal? I would have named you something better. Ty-Tyballinia. No, we’d have to eliminate the ‘ball’ aspect. It sounds too crude.” “One foot in front of the other,” she said. So I walked. Mess greeted me at the doorway. Dirtied culinary obscured the dark wooden countertops, and the sink lay running. I approached the kitchen table, sat, and set my face down upon its cool wooden surface. Assaulting my nose was the smell of neglected flowers, like soil mixed with the kind of sweet cough medicine that would have left me gagging as a child. Open windows whispered songs of the twilight hour through the vessels of busy trolleys and shooting guns. My mouth strained to vomit, but there was nothing in my stomach to regurgitate except the petals of Stulto’s bloom, which came out effortlessly in little sputters. Teetering, I stood up and brushed disgorged plant parts off the tabletop. “Love,” I said as I slogged up yet another staircase. “Are you awake?” She said she’d wait. Somebody’s gotten her. No, she always misses movie night. That sleepyhead, I assured myself. There was a stirring amidst the manor’s cloak of dusk. Portraits of myself, my wife, and my daughter turned to face me as the hallway lights flickered, escaping their quartz frames to penetrate my ears with nonsense. The taxidermied heads of Infran creatures bared their teeth. I stopped to stare at my favorite, an adabactor with daunting spiked tusks poking out from its forehead. Its nose remained black and sharp, and its eyes wide with malice. “Where is my Spes, Adaba-boy? Is she sleepy?” There’s someone in the house. The sounds of the stirring rose along with my blood pressure. Footsteps orbited around me, drawing near and far and then near again, little dancers in the dark. The carpet immersed me in its mass of purples and blues, leaving my skin stained indigo and my vision abstracted. I toiled to reach the master bedroom across the aisle as it stretched out to me with bright lights and celestial howling, like a dove struggling in a pool of oil. Never again with Stulto’s bloom. Never again on what was already a bad night. My hand brushed the doorknob, and the high abruptly faded into only a persistent hum-buzz twirling around my brain. The portraits returned to their typical depression–Spes posing with her ax, Ari’s school photo, and myself in the cap I wore when addressing the military with the Verbis emblem embroidered in its center. All lifeless shots. Who were they for when they captured not the subject’s essence but only some fragment of their identity? They used to feel personal, not advertisements of some supposed characters. Servants, babysitters, and likewise civilian guests, I reminded myself, mustn’t forget whose home they’re in. Yet my body moved independently, taking Ari’s from its hook and laying it backward against the wall to hide her distant grin and tamed posture. It was time for new pictures. Sweet ones, real ones; time was ticking. I approached my own when the stirring began again. Groans and squeals erupted from the vents as if someone had set a pen of pigs loose in my crawlspace. No, not the crawlspace, my bedroom door. I turned the ruby knob. Underneath a blanket wrestled my two squealing piglets, their skins melting together beneath the layer of duvet. Fishnet leggings and manicured nails outstretched and scraped at the sheet beneath them. One raised its head, a salmon-colored man with sweat running down his forehead. Through the crack in the door, we met eyes, his Infran Dr. Sesuss nose flaring its narrow nostrils. No mark of the Spoiled Purity existed carved onto his naked body. My chest felt tight. I stepped back. I was suffocating. Spes emerged from the linens, her hair flowing down her back and her dark skin glistening in front of the bedroom window. She giggled and held the man, the blanket falling and revealing inches of her body I had not seen in months. “Darling,” whispered the rosy-faced man, “look.” He was unfathomably ugly and grotesquely young, with beady, lifeless pupils that dilated when he faced me. The excess flesh on his face sagged while he bit down on his thin lips. My wife faced me, gasped, and strained to cover herself. Suddenly, I was a stranger. A small child who had walked into his parents having sex. I unfurled the door completely. “Get out of my house,” I said. The man stayed in place. “Get out of my house,” I repeated. “Knox,” Spes began. Tears ran down her round cheeks. “Shut up!” I turned to the man, picking up a marble trophy from on top of my dresser. “Get out of my house! I’ll kill you!” “Knox!” Spes sobbed. “God damn it! I hate you! You barely look at me. Every day, there’s less passion. God, God, God, I don’t want to fuck a dead man!” she screamed, “You get out! Get! Get!” My hands wrapped tighter around the statue. That pig of a man was attached to her at the side, his face equipped with a scowl that challenged mine. He thought I was weak; frail like a decaying dementia-ridden senior. I imagined his skull bashed in, his scowl gone, and the feist and confidence in his face beaten into numbness. A new portrait was in order of such brutality, him as a splintered slab of wood, rashed and beaten, a carcass licking my boot. The churning in my brain had come back. Every wall shook. Clock faces came to life and rang in alarm. Indescribable noises caressed my eardrum before breaking into sorrowful weeps. Was it my own? I stared at Spes in motionless frenzy, clenched my teeth, and screamed like a siren. Passionless. What a lie! An excuse, more like. One that erased all my ventures, reducing me to a nobody. But I was not a nobody. I thought of my sect, my campaigns, my endurance through the political brutality of my empty hive-mind world–even my collection of literature, maps, and artifacts. I thought of daring nights alone with Spes when we were young, ravaging each other, two sardonic eggheads suddenly overcome with desire. The veins in my neck throbbed as I gasped for air. It was all I had. I threw the figurine at the man’s head. Eye shut, I heard the thud. A million singing voices of victory flooded out of the cracks in the floorboard. Proving myself a man to the woman I loved in a display of fervent violence was passion. I strained my ears for his cries, though I did not look yet. There had to be a pause, a moment of relief, where I stood tall as a skyscraper and seemingly fought to stay contained in front of my wife and her wounded, quivering paramour. Frantic footsteps rushed off the bed and past my side. I turned and grappled against myself to seize my wife’s shoulder. “Spes!” My eyelids lifted. Escaping was the man with that same numb expression in which I had imagined him. “You’re insane,” he said. I swiveled back towards the bed. With her curly locks flowing over her breasts and her limbs bent at her sides, Spes sat limp pressed against the headboard, her forehead bludgeoned and the statue resting on her stomach. Lips pursed and sweet, my Renaissance beauty reclined there in the guise of a squashed bug. But she was not dead. The desk ornament I flung was only the size of my shoe. Spes, that dramatist, may have been slightly hurt but was far from dead. She only wanted me to think she was to observe me at my most distraught, like a leech feeding on misery. “Get up.” Staggering toward the bed, I said. “You wanted passion? I showed you passion. ‘Shoved it right into your head. Of course, we both know who that gesture was meant for. . .” I fumbled to find my wit. Cold skin met my hands as I stroked her face, unable to resist checking her pulse, even though she was not dead. “I love you, Spes,” I said. Rain pelted against a nearby window. “Spes, please. Please.” No vibration answered my plea. I lifted my hand, sitting next to her now. Tears did not come. There was not any blood on the trophy, but when I picked it up, it felt to be now only a cruel instrument. It depicted a younger me in white marble, with my glasses and collared shirt being the only things painted. Both were in pink. It was a favorable color. I scrambled from the bed to vomit pure digestive bile on the rug. My stomach heaved. I ran my nails along every piece of myself I saw, a dog chasing my tail. As I slammed myself against walls and convulsed, my own heart grew ever louder in my chest. “Dad? I heard–” Ari’s slippered feet hammered across the floor. “Mom? Mom?” I kept my eyes on the storm. Silence fell. “She-She isn’t—your—.” Gasps interrupted every syllable she spoke. “You’re a murderer. Bad. Like they said,” she breathed, “ You beat her!” The words became mush, alphabet soup. Ari ran back down the hall. “My-My mom is dead. . . .Yes. . . Manor of the Trials Sovereignty. . .Ari Sorkin. . . I’m afraid he’s going to hurt me,” she said, presumably over the phone. It was all too fast. I crawled onto the windowsill, opened the glass, and let myself plummet into the alley below. Gusts of wind howled. The lack of motion or sensation informed me I had passed and again lived. Another Palatium Infra, another strange planet in which the celestial endowed rotting men with the opportunity to inhabit. Was this it? Was it all just an impossible limbo of galactic traveling? My surroundings were overwhelmingly gray, an abyss of clouds. Perhaps I had now met the real coming world, and my family and old friends lived here, ready to rush to my sides, lift me up, and jump for joy. Spes would be there. She would be enraged, but at least she’d be there. You are a bad man. You are a bad man. My eyelashes fluttered. There was a tugging sensation in my leg. The fog was wavering along with my ascendance. “No,” I yearned, trying to grip the clouds and stick them in place. “Stay with me.” But the peace was fleeting. I felt the cement under me and the moist garments clinging to my figure. My leg burned. Carefully, I craned my neck, only to observe the promenade as my surroundings. The most underwhelming of filth and danger, individually Infran. Forever my coming world. What a fool I was, having forgotten my blessing. Those idiot Gods could not tell the difference between assassination and self-infliction; a faulty insurance plan. The urge to cry at last set over me, and so I sat and wailed hot salvia into my palm, shielding my mouth to muffle the noise. Thunder echoed my hushed howling. Raindrops turned to pebbles. Under the ambiance of the stormy night, I could have sworn I heard troops stomping, guns cocking, and the chanting of my name. They had all been waiting for this. Billboards came to life, and I could only sit and spectate as the scenery flashed red. I inhaled fear and sobriety through runny nostrils. “Trials Sovereign Vsevolod “Knox” Sorkin is currently at large for the suspected homicide of Spes Sorkin, breaking the first term of the Sovereignty Charter. We now instruct you to report any sightings of the Earth-born, caucasian, roughly 195 centimeters tall, brown-haired, and brown-eyed man to your local Guard post. One can identify the suspected convict specifically by an occult tattoo of Purity’s Coronet on his lower back. No attempted execution or elongated punishment will take place until our Guards conduct an autopsy proving his guilt, per Life’s 1238 commandment. We cannot be sure when or if the Gods will revoke his blessing. Remember, when Gods frown upon strife, opt for a peaceful life. We permit all grieving festivities until Cagidus 4th. Good year!” towering buildings sang out in broadcast, repeating that same convoluted message quicker the instant it ended. Sometimes, the announcer spoke in Latin for the Infran children, other times in Chinese, Hindi, or Spanish to cater to those of irrelevant tongues. You aren’t a bad man. You are a stupid boy. Puddles sloshed. Somebody was approaching. I didn’t dare waste any remaining energy avoiding the Guards and their prodding blades. How did that phrase go? You dug your grave. Now lie in it. And so I embraced the cement. “Knox?” said the Guard. No, her tone was too sincere, and no authority would proceed in such a manner. There wasn’t confirmation on whether or not I was armed, and it wasn’t as if she could shoot me first. She was a partygoer, having just left from the cellar’s backdoor. I shooed her away with my hand. She hovered, and I discerned her shadow hesitating over my body. A man could not rot in peace. “Come on, get up! They’re after you!” Hands reached around my torso, struggling to handle my weight as they urged me onto my feet. That leg, the burning one, my right, trembled and bent unnaturally upon impact with the ground. The partygoer slung my arm over her shoulder, balancing me. My eyes caught a glimpse of a cyan mop. “Anwen?” I rasped, “hu-who let you out?” Keys jangled in her hands–my keys. “I escaped,” she said casually, coercing me to walk beside her. “Quicken your pace. I just heard somebody on your front porch. ‘You see that compost bin down the alley? We’re gonna burrow right down into the depth of that. If they open it and uncover us, I’ll be on top, and I can hide you and act like I’m just a homeless amica trying to take a nap.” With a tightening grip, she led me like livestock to the stinking crate. “I don’t understand, Anwen,” I said. “They’re going to torture and kill you, stupid. You know they’ve been wanting to, and you just handed the opportunity to them!” “I understand that.” It was becoming increasingly challenging to hide the fragility emerging in my voice. “You said you were escaping. Why stop and help your captor?” “What else could I do? Leave you there?” Attempts to shove my wounded body inside its mass of discarded fruits and vegetables began. She yanked down upon my head and submerged me in the fertilizer sea. The evidence grows indisputable, I thought as I stared at the abruptly humane Infran girl, diving in after me, that I belong here. “Damn me to hell! I’ve killed her! My love is dead!” an uncontrollable cry leaped from my mouth. “Shut up! Soon you’ll be, too, if you don’t quiet down.” The actual noise of the Guards darted past us: disorientated marching, guns clanking against each other, cluttered belts rattling, the Latin squawking. One paused to open the bin’s lid, though only rummaged through the surface layer of peat before carrying on. “What are they talking about? I struggle with my Latin,” I whispered. “The search, mainly.” Aggression remained firey in Anwen’s clenched jaw. Though she sat on top of me, there was a monumental distance between our rain-soaked forms. I curled up into a ball, ducked my head between my knees, and dreamt of Spes, ignoring the stench of spoiled food rising from every crevice of my dwelling. The next coming world was due to adopt me again as I forced sleep. I prayed for a canyon of fluffy haze, where I waltzed with pale memories but found nothing but the petrifying stillness of my mind. Killed and ran. Violent as a Guard just to prove a point and watch it backfire. Why would any heaven want to welcome me? I clung to the picture of Spes in my head like it was the last ember of an extinguished flame. “Did you mean to kill her?” Anwen interrogated. “Someone like you would immutably believe yes.” “And who is someone like me? You can’t even treat me like a person for a moment, can you?” grating drama decorated her words. “You know my opinions. I have not seen much of your or your breed’s faces besides that of cruelty and ignorance.” I retorted. “I just saved you! Does that make me cruel and ignorant?” “It makes you an idiot, which is another word for somebody ignorant.” “And why am I an idiot?” She asked. “Because you helping me does no good. Thank you anyhow. Now, do yourself a favor and scram.” As she bent her leg in anticipation, preparing to strike me on the forehead, I sensed an invisible withdrawal widening the gap between us. “You never answered my question,” Anwen took me by the end of my tattered tie suddenly and started her game of shepherd and sheep over again, pulling me back up to the crate’s exit. It appeared as a shining light at the end of a maze of rubbish and mold. “No. Of course not. Spes was my everything,” I sniffled. “I knew it. You couldn’t even bring yourself to hit us, let alone murder your wife. The girls and I always figured you were sensitive.” My heart rate quickened. Today was one of humbling and misery–one to pray a hail spike would fall from the sky as sharp as a needle, pierce into my eyelid, and lobotomize me. I wished I could have merely died or hit my head hard enough not to have to deal with it all. No, I wished I was Anwen with her snarky, careless glow and lack of depth in her eyes. As we emerged from the compost bin together, I fantasized about strangling her until her face turned purple, her weakening spirit no longer categorizing me as “sensitive”, but the thought could only remind me of wielding that trophy and the microscopic traces of my wife’s tender skin tainting it, which turned my guts inside out. “That’s why I think you could use a little help,” Anwen said, “It seems like you can’t walk, either. Your leg is all twisted up.” She undid one of her trim pigtails and handed me the band. “Take off your tie and put up your hair. ‘Will make you less recognizable. Then swallow your pride and stick with me.”

Bonk's New Bike Bonk has dreams about the bike he wants. It is red with cool handlebars and spokes. Bonk sees the bike on TV. He sees it in the newspaper, too. He opens his monster bank. He has only five pennies. "I have to earn enough money for my new bike," says Bonk. "I will start a dog walking business," he says. He goes door to door asking people if he can walk their dogs. "Can we help walk dogs, too?" asks Jupe. "I'll do it by myself," Bonk says. "I'm saving my money for a new bike." Soon, Bonk's phone begins to ring. People knock on his door. They all want Bonk to walk their dogs! "This will be a fun and easy way to earn money," Bonk says. On Saturday, Bonk picks up each dog. There are big dogs, little dogs. fancy dogs, and plain dogs. The dogs are barking, jumping, and running around. Bonk gets all their leashes together and begins to walk. One dog tangles up his leash. Another dog rolls in the mud. Another dog chases a cat! "This is not fun!" Bonk says. "It is not easy either!" Lurk, Uzzle, and Jupe ride their scooters past Bonk. "Do you want some help now. Bonk?" Jupe asks. Bonk gives each of the monsters a dog to walk. When they are finished walking. the dog owners pay the monsters. "I'm sorry I said you couldn't help with the dog walking," says Bonk. "I couldn't have done it without you." Jupe, Lurk, and Uzzle talk. They give their money to Bonk. "This is for your new bike," says Jupe. "But you earned this money, too," says Bonk. "We want something other than money," says Lurk. "Anything you want," Bonk says. "When you get your new bike, we want to take turns riding it!" says Jupe. "It's a deal!" says Bonk.

Good morning, class! Today we will talk about pets. Great! I love animals. Do you have a pet? Yes, I do. I have a pet dog. Does your dog have a tail? Yes, it does. It also has big ears. What are these? The first animal is a goat. The second animal is a rabbit. Are they good pets? Rabbits make good pets.They usually live in cages. Goats do not. They live on farms. What is this? It’s a lion. Do you like the lion? Yes! The lion is my favorite animal.

Miss Jill: Good morning, class! Today we will talk about pets. Student: Great! I love animals. Miss Jill: Do you have a pet? Student: Yes, I do. I have a pet dog. Miss Jill: Does your dog have a tail? Student: Yes, it does. It also has big ears. Miss Jill: What are these? Student: The first animal is a goat. The second animal is a rabbit. Miss Jill: Are they good pets? Student: Rabbits make good pets. They usually live in cages. Goats do not. They live on farms. Miss Jill: What's this? Student: It's a lion. Miss Jill: Do you like the lion? Student: Yes! The lion is my favorite animal.

What Pet Should You Get? Introduction. Almost every kid has wanted to have a pet. Pets can make good friends. But how do you decide which kind of pet to get? Here are some kids who have some opinions about pets. Read what they have to say. Then decide what kind of pet you would like to have. Dogs as Pets. Every kid should own a dog. A dog comes when you call it. You know it likes you because it wags its tail. Dogs like to play chase with you. Some dogs will even play catch! Get a dog for a great playmate! Dogs as Pets. Dogs are hard pets to keep. They need lots of space to run. What if you don't have a yard? You have to take them on walks even if it is cold. The worst thing is that you have to clean up after them. Yuck, who wants a dog? Lizards as Pets. Lizards make the coolest pets. They don't bark or meow. You don't have to take them for walks. They are easy to hold and to pet. It doesn't cost much for lizard food. So, go get a lizard! Lizards as Pets. It is mean to keep lizards as pets. Some have to stay in one tiny box their whole life. Some of them eat live crickets. Plus, it feels really weird to pet them. Never, ever, get a lizard! Fish as Pets. Fish make awesome pets. They come in such pretty colors. It is fun to watch them swim back and forth. It is fun to watch their funny mouths. They only need to be fed once a day. Fish make fun and easy pets to keep. Fish as Pets. Fish should be left in the oceans and rivers. Fish don't come when you call them. They can't do any tricks. And worse than that, fish don't like to be touched. Fish win the most boring pet award. Parrots as Pets One of the best pets to own is a parrot. Parrots are very beautiful birds. They often do not need a cage. I love it when my parrot says "hello." Some parrots even whistle. Get a parrot and teach it to talk. Parrots as Pets Parrots are really messy pets. They spill seeds and fruit all over. They are not the best drinkers. They get water on the floor. Their feathers can even fall out. Don't get a parrot unless you like cleaning! Conclusion. There are good things and bad things about each pet. You have to decide whether the good things are great. You have to decide whether the bad things are okay for you. You also have to do research to see whether your house is good for a pet. Don't get a pet unless you have thought hard about it. But the right pet can be your best friend!

Dia for María Ratona was a cat named Mouse. She was small and gray, and had a tiny squeaky meow. She liked to sit in a hole in the shed wall. Ratona lived for a long time. Eight months ago, she died. I'm not sad anymore, but I think about her often. One day, Mamá was setting up Tía Teresa's ofrenda, a special altar, for Day of the Dead. Teresa passed away when I was a baby. "Mamá, can we celebrate pets?" I asked. "This is mostly for family, though I suppose Ratona was part of ours," Mamá said. "We can celebrate her the day before," I suggested. Later, Mamá and I went to the market in Puebla. We got paper banners, sugar skulls, and marigolds. On October 31, my friends came over. Adriana brought her dog, Sal. or Salt. She had a photo of Sal's sister, Pimienta, or Pepper, who died last summer. Gloria had a picture of Raúl the rooster, a pet she had lost. We set up the banners, marigolds. and photos where Ratona used to sit. "Once, Pimienta stole a pound of cheese from our cooler. She got into the trash and ate it later! I have cheese for Pimienta," Adriana said. "My mother makes pumpkin seeds for my great-grandfather's ofrenda. Raúl jumped up and ate them! My mother was so mad. I brought some for Raúl," Gloria said. "If someone had ice cream, Ratona went Squeak! Squeak! until you let her lick the bowl. I have ice cream for Ratona," I said. I gave Adriana and Gloria sugar skulls before they left. I thought about funny little Ratona. On the last day of celebrations, my family walked to the graveyard. Everyone from the area came. There were fireworks and even a band. Tía Teresa's gravestone was piled with flowers, sweet bread, and candles. Mamá smiled to herself. "One day, María, your Tía Teresa heard a tiny squeak coming from the grass. It was a little gray kitten. Teresa named her Ratona," Mamá said. She continued, "When Teresa died, I took Ratona. You loved her right away. You reminded me of Teresa." Everyone was laughing and dancing. I was too young to remember Tía Teresa, but we had both loved Ratona. That made me happy. Mamá took my hand. "I think it's time to dance!" she said.

The following days are a jumble of gunfire, digging, gobbled food, soldiers running in and out of the forest in small groups, distant explosions, stray shells, bandaged heads and unexpected lulls. On the very first day, before dawn, I am ordered into one of the newly dug trenches. I huddle there, squeezing my magic buttons and singing songs to the dog. When the fighting stops, the dog disappears, but a new companion takes his place. A strange little soldier crawls along the trench toward me. ‘Private Sasha!’ he cries. ‘I’ve been looking for you all day long!’ He’s old, like a grandfather, a dedushka. He has a black patch over one eye, a tape measure around his neck and a row of pins threaded into his sleeve. Hanging from his belt is the most enormous pair of scissors I have ever seen and I wonder if he uses them as a weapon. He doesn’t tell me his name, so in my head he becomes Dedushka. Dedushka squats, cups his hand to his ear, peers over the top of the trench and smiles. ‘It’s safe to be upright . . . for now.’ He helps me to my feet, dusts me off and commands me to stand as tall and straight as I can. Then he measures me. Everything from head to toe – even my toes! He writes numbers in a little notebook, strings his tape measure back around his neck, salutes and hurries away. It’s all very strange, and I wonder if Dedushka has been bumped on the head during the battle and is now a little bit muddled. I should have given him a hug before he left. I chase after him but stop when I’m hit by a shovelful of flying dirt. Sleepy Bear is digging a cave! ‘Are you going to hibernate?’ I ask. Sleepy Bear chuckles. ‘No, although that would be wonderful! I could do with a lo-o-o-ong sleep.’ He sighs and closes his eyes. He doesn’t open them again and I realise that he has gone to sleep. Standing up! I shake his arm, and he opens his eyes and keeps talking. ‘No, I’m not hibernating. I’m digging a little nook where I can sleep and eat. I’ll hang up my raincape as a door that can open and close so it feels just like a real home . . . except for the lice . . . and the bad smells . . . and the bombs that make the walls shake and crumble.’ He points further along the trench to where other soldiers are digging. ‘We’re all making little houses in the ground.’ ‘Like rabbits and moles,’ I say. Sleepy Bear chuckles. ‘Yes! And soldiers who need to hide from German bullets and bombs.’ He stops digging to roll a cigarette. ‘Should I be making a house?’ I ask. ‘I want to hide from German bullets and bombs, too.’ Sleepy Bear flops to the ground, lights his cigarette, closes his eyes and takes a deep puff. I wait for him to answer, but, instead, he begins to snore! I poke him in the side. He snorts and he murmurs, ‘I think someone has already built you a house, Sasha. Keep going along this beautiful village street and you are sure to find it.’ He falls asleep once more. I kiss his dusty cheek and whisper, ‘Thank you, Sleepy Bear.’ A little way along, I see Cook in a cloud of smoke. He has lit a fire, right here in the middle of the trench, and is stirring a cauldron full of kasha. He squats as he stirs. ‘What are you doing?’ I ask. ‘Cooking supper, of course!’ he cries. ‘But why are you doing it here?’ Cook points his spoon at the ground above the trenches. ‘Because if I do it up there, my pot will be filled with holes from German bullets and all of the kasha will leak out onto the ground. It’s bad enough that our supplies can’t get through German lines and there’s nothing to cook but buckwheat for kasha. But if we lost the kasha, too . . .’ ‘Hungry soldiers,’ I say. Cook nods. ‘And grumpy!’ ‘Like Boris!’ I gasp. ‘Even worse,’ warns Cook. I picture the kasha pot full of bullet holes. And then I realise that if the kasha pot were full of holes, then Cook would be, too. I wrap my arms around Cook’s neck and say, ‘I think this is a very good place for cooking our supper.’ I kiss his smoky cheek and run along. At the end of the trench, I find the biggest hole of all. It’s wide and deep and as busy as a beehive in a blossom tree. Above, a group of soldiers is rolling logs into place for a roof, while below, typewriters rattle and pencils scratch and papers flutter and voices crackle out of five different radios. Their words tangle together to tell a strange wartime fairy tale about German guns and a loving father called Stalin and a Red Army regiment that is lost in the deep, dark forest and a wicked beast called Hitler and a delivery of vegetables that was hit by a bomb and blown into a million tiny pieces too small even to make soup. In the middle of it all, wrestling with a rumpled map, his rifle still slung over his shoulder, is Major Scruff. ‘Major Scruff!’ I run and jump into his arms. ‘Is this our new home?’ ‘Yes, Sasha. I suppose it is.’ ‘Is it safe from German bullets and bombs?’ I ask. He stares at me. ‘Were you scared in the trenches today, Sasha?’ ‘No,’ I reply. ‘I had magic buttons and a dog and some songs to sing. Were you scared in the forest, Major Scruff?’ ‘Yes,’ he says. ‘Poor Major Scruff!’ I press my hand against his cheek. The dark, rough stubble is grubby with grit and his eyelids are taking a long time to open after every blink. ‘You need a shave and a nap!’ I scold. He chuckles. ‘I am too tired to shave and too busy to nap.’ I scrunch my nose while I consider his problem. ‘I know!’ I cry. ‘You nap and I will shave your whiskers. That will be two jobs tumbled into one!’ And so that’s what we do. Major Scruff slumps into a chair and snoozes while I lather his face with soapy water and shave his whiskers. The soap suds travel from his face, up into his hair and down the front of his uniform, and I have to shave his jaw and chin three times because I keep missing bits, but I finally get it all done. I am just wiping his cheeks dry when the dog appears. He licks my hand, then stretches up and licks soap suds from Major Scruff’s ear. Major Scruff wakes with a start. He feels his newly shaved face and cries, ‘Wonderful, Sasha! I feel smooth, clean, rested and ready for action.’ He ruffles my hair. ‘We must do this again tomorrow. Although next time, you might wake me with a gentle shake of the shoulder instead of licking my ear.’

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