The Puppy Diaries: Raising A Dog Named Scout - Plot & Excerpts
when she arrived at our bedside, her big squeaky duck in her mouth. She often carried something in her mouth when she was excited, and in the mornings she brought the duck as an offering, an invitation for immediate play. Even then, two and a half years after the accident in Times Square, my leg was usually quite stiff first thing in the morning, so left to my own druthers I probably would have wanted to sleep a little later. But over the past few months Scout and I had developed a mutually agreeable morning routine. I would first sit Indian-style on the bedroom floor for a few minutes while Scout walked in circles around me, duck in mouth and braying with happiness. Then I would try to grab the duck, which, of course, I never managed to snatch away. Once I felt limber enough, I would haul myself up and chase her. But one morning in November, when she was seven months old, Scout failed to appear on cue. It was a weekday morning in the city, and without my trusty alarm clock I overslept.
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