we would be better off if we could go far downriver and get out of the range where other dogs had hunted.
He said, “That’s a good idea. I’ll go to see the judges about it.”
While I was washing the dishes, Grandpa said, “I think I’ll shave.”
I should’ve left the tent then, but I wasn’t done with my dish-washing.
With a pin, Grandpa hung a small mirror on the tent wall.
After much snorting, mumbling, and screwing of his face this way and that, the job was completed.
Dabbing a little water on his iron-gray hair, he reached for his brush and comb.
From the corner of my eye I watched him. I had tried to clean the beautiful brush but hadn’t been able to get all the short red hair from it.
With two fingers, Grandpa pulled some of the hair from the bristles.
Holding it in front of him, he looked it over carefully.
Then, bending over close to the mirror, peeking over his glasses, he inspected his head.
Straightening up, he looked at the brush again. Turning around quickly, he looked straight at me and said, “Say, young—”
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