Every thousand words or so, one will drag itself out of the muck and across the lawn, shake itself off on the front step, and beg to be let in. I haven’t turned one away yet. But I’ve been bitten by some. And that, my friend, explains the blood.
Update: In the Forum: “She emptied the bottle; he ignored his slumbering dog. Before the door slammed, they were wondering what they should do to celebrate April Fool’s’ Day.”