A Tale of Two Biddies
It was the best of crimes, it was the worst of crimes. They really didn’t think they could pull it off, and indeed they hadn’t, perhaps. It was a little early to tell. Certainly the evening had not been carried throughout without certain elements that were from with-out the plan.
A plan that was startling, if only in its complexity. Honed over several months, conceived and re-conceived over many years, it would be an unlikely situation, one would think, that unforeseen difficulties might arise. It is inevitable, maybe, that a failure to allow ever further expansions, a widening to consider the Human factor.
I cannot, and will not, attempt to argue that this plan did not allow for the vagaries of the biological machine at all, but I will never be convinced that it set out sufficient contingencies for our absurdities.
The blame, you will assume, ought to fall on the head of the canine species, but I find it hard to look in that direction. It is true, as you are all too aware, that the sudden and unexpected apparence of the mutt was the tremor that shifted the beautiful edifice of the plan, rattled its bones, and shimmered its glowering crown until the whole thing was no more than so much sandpaper and nails.
A dog? Did the dog demand the attention it received? Maybe. Did a mere floppy-eared four-legged menace insist on the fatal pause for petting?
No, I think not. Biddy is no more. Her plan is no more. And now, I will be now more.
I bid you, adieu.
Today I wrote between 22:45 and 22:55. I was prompted by an idea here.
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