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Tallulah

May I present a tentative new MG story idea. Please let me know if the premise/first page draws you in.


Tallulah has it in for me, and I can prove it.

To start, she didn’t growl that morning when I picked her up from Mrs. Peachtree. Her scrunchy French Bulldog snout didn’t even quiver when she noticed me, Riley Jenkins, her least favorite kid in the world, dutifully arriving at 9:00 AM to waltz her around the neighborhood like a fido prima donna.

No animosity. Should have been my first clue.

I stretch to grab the leash, but Mrs. Peachtree launches on a ramble. For a 95 year-old lady, she sure has a lot of wind. If it wasn’t for her walker, she could probably run circles around me, but then I’d be out of a job.

“Take good care of my little Tally Belle. She’s been whimpering this morning, so I called the vet and he wants to examine her stool. Be a dear and bring me the bag if my sweet fuzzy wuffkin relieves herself.”

“Yes, Mrs. Peachtree,” I gag and reach again to snag the leash, but she’s got it in a death grip. The sooner we walk, the sooner I’ve got another five bucks in my pocket to put toward my phone.

“And pay close attention to my baby’s breathing. She doesn’t have the constitution for a hot Georgia summer.”

“Of course, Mrs. Peachtree. Tallulah’s in good hands,” I refrain from reminding her I’ve walked Tallulah for two entire summers, since she was a pup. Better to let the conversation fizzle out so we can be on our way.







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