Chapter Thirty Seven
'Violet please don't ride Rocky.'
I'd lost count of how many times I'd said those words today.
Our three year old daughter, otherwise known as loopy stunt woman, cave girl, and little monster, grinned at me, her face slathered in soil, and her hair stuck up at every angle known to physics. Her arms were wrapped around Rocky's neck, the old mutt still as lively and mental as he'd always been. His tongue lolled out, and he gave me that playful grin that meant he was as integral in the chaos as Violet Buell was. The two of them were so close, they even slept together. Violet in her jungle-princess themed bed, and rocky on the floor beside her, in a fluffy pink diamanté encrusted stupidly expensive bed Vi had demanded for her best friend.
'Uncle Tarqueen lets me rid
