Oh, completely, Mister Hawk. I am totally and absolutely responsible for every word I writer here. The creation of Chinga and his mother, which you have often protested as being a cruel falsehood in the eyes of your own imaginary character, just demonstrates that when we have Reality, I can mock up a fictitious twist of fate as easily as you can, name it Chinga, and insist it is related to my copy of your fictitious Chongo. If we are going to throw fictions upon the common stage to be admired by each other, there's no basis for rebuttal of Chinga and her mother being the bereft and abandoned victims of gross irresponsibility on the part of a young chimp named Chongo.

But, now, oh my flutterbyes and furbelows, I have great news of much more import.

On Wednesday I am driving up to Los ANgeles to bring home the beautiful three-year-old Maggie, a mishmash breed of a lovely, gentle-spirited, lively-hearted dog. She has been belonging to my son, who has a small bachelor pad in West LA and works long hours and cannot keep the dog's lively interest up due to his schedule. So for the sake of the dog's happiness, we are taking her home with us and she will be my own dog companion. I am very happy at this prospect as I have been without a dog since I left my family hone lo, these fifty long years ago, more or less.

So, caloo, callay, say I, and here's a tall glass to the Mugwumps and Bandersnatches that make such happy changes possible.


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