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Marion had that special problem, and that was all her dog 's fault, for starters. The laundry was still damp to the taste, and that was her husband's style to a tee. Itching all the way to work Marion Marionberry knew she needed a little extra something to sooth her sore skin. Fighting the urge to give in , she drove on. Mr Marionberry puffed contentedly on his pipe , his damp tie hanging limply from the ceiling fan, wishing he was a canine pet. "I always loved her," he murmured, gazing fondly at Hopi, wondering why it was that Marion could speak Bark, but knew that it would never be the same.
