Dear Diary,
Awakened as usual by Farmer Clamp's cock. I often dream of grasping its head and squeezing and shaking it until it splutters but I scarce think I would be able to do it should the opportunity arise. I contemplated discussing my diary with my sister Jane at breakfast but refrained on this occasion as her head was buried in a book and rarely did her eyes leave its ivory pages as she forked her eggs. Father announced he was off to Netherton to see a man about a dog. Why do we need another dog? I am not a dog lover. They smell somewhat and have repulsive habits. Father's last canine companion sadly died in a hunting accident last July at the hands of the ill-sighted Pastor who mistook Old Tom for a rampant badger. It would have been understandable had Old Tom been black and white but he was an Irish Setter.
I received an epistle from my good friend Mr Ashforth. He may call on me here at Thrushcock Grange at his earliest convenience. I feel quite elated at this news.
Kristin Chenowith - Home
14 years ago
