Wednesday, April 15, 2009
At least he didn't faint
“What have you called him?”
Harold watched the pygmy goat gambol across the lawn, leaving small divots in the grass. Fortunately, he knew just the imp to repair the damage.
“Pablo the Leprechaun,” said Lucy.
“Leprechaun?” Harold frowned. “But he’s a--”
“I know, dad.” Lucy turned to him, twelve years old and full of seriousness. “But that would be condescending to Pablo and insulting to any human society whose members were under two feet tall.”
“I see.” Harold nodded. “But not insulting to gold-hoarding guardians of Rainbows?”
“Now who’s being ridiculous?” Lucy punched him. “I’ve already asked their permission.”