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Saturday, August 4, 2018
Thursday, August 2, 2018
Ratchet was glued to the spot with fear. She watched as Granny Voggle quickly scooped up a discarded copy of, Ye Old Newspaper, and rolling it up slapped the werewolf lightly on the snout.
“Down!” Granny ordered. The werewolf moved away from Wren and holding it's paw over it's snout and tucking it's tail between it's legs whined, “Ouch. What'dya go and do that for? I wasn't really gonna bite her.”
“It certainly looked like you was!” Granny snapped wagging the paper in one hand. Then she commanded, “Sit.”
The werewolf sat in an easy chair, still holding his nose and whined, “Can't hit me for bitin' when I ain't done it.”
“Ya see?” Granny Voggle complained, “I toldya it'd be more trouble than it's worth.”
Across the room was heard a wincing, “You can't punish me for biting, when I didn't.”
“Well, we didn't have any other choice, Granny,” Wren answered softly.
“You got no right sayin' I was gonna bite! Maybe I wasn't,” the werewolf grumbled.
“I don't see him bein' much help to tell ya the truth,” Ratchet exclaimed.
“I might not 'o bitten. I mean how do ya know?”
“He's the only help we got right now though,” Granny conceded finally.
“You can't know is my point. Mighta not bitten. Innocent til proven guilty, that's all I'm sayin'.”
“Stop that whimpering,” Granny yelped. The werewolf silently lowered his head. Before the witches could get the words written down to bring before the werewolf he yipped, “I gotta go out. I need to go walksies.”
“You'll have to wait a bit. I needs your help with somethin',” Granny said flat.
“NO. You spanked my nose. I got a very nervous tummy. I gotta go walksies now!” said the werewolf crossing his legs. Then uncrossing them. Then recrossing them. And so on.
“I think it's an emergency, Granny. I'll take him,” Wren said and whistled for the werewolf to follow.
“Ain't a witch's life pure glamor?” asked Granny handing Wren a burlap sack and an enormous shovel.***