I believe in sharing. I share my bed with Mom every night. She actually thinks it’s her bed, but I know better. I think Mom should share all of her food with me, but she says, “Get off that chair!” and “Get away from the table!” and “Why does your breath smell like sauerkraut?”
Except for the food, Mom understands about sharing. She shares ideas. Every couple of weeks, she meets up with her writing group. The name of her group is David. They read stories to each other and talk about what’s so good about them and what needs work. After they talk, the stories get better. I think stories get better when there’s a dog in them. Dogs are fun and funny and cute and adorable and silly and smart and tricky and mysterious and… Ugh. I just gave my tiny brain a headache.
Back to sharing… Mom also shares her stories with kids. She visits them at school and reads to them and shares writing tips with them. Sometimes the kids say, “When I grow up, I want to be an author.” and “Once I wrote a story about my dog, Peanut Butter.” I hope they ALL have dogs in ALL of their stories. Then they’ll be exciting and surprising and fascinating and important and… Ouch.
One day, my friend Eme came to visit me. She had a delicious sippy cup of milk. I waited nicely because I was sure that she’d want to share it with me when she saw how well-behaved I was.
It turned out that Eme didn’t completely understand about sharing. But don’t worry. I taught her all she needs to know.
You’re welcome, Eme.