Tuesday, June 23, noon: Wahoo! Rocky is mine! I love him, he's perfect, he's wonderful, he feels like riding an octopus on roller skates and can't turn right with a gun to his head, but he's a genius and I love him and I can't wait to get him home. So I call a couple of transport companies, and because it's the off season, only one of them has a truck going up 95 with any regularity, but they assure me that he'll get on the van by the end of the week. They'll call me when they know when.
Thursday: (chirp, chirp.)
Friday: (you got it.)