I have to admiit that I’m all for the dogs in this fight between squeaky toys and the canine desire to kill them. I remember giving The Rescues a squeaky when I was neck-deep in editing. What was I thinking? I’d be digging into my private thesaurus reserve, igniting all my synapses to come up with the right word to suggest in a manuscript when….squeak…squeak…SQUEAKSQUEAKSQUEAK.
Ahhh…it burns! What the hell was I thinking when I bought this toy? Couldn’t they take the damn thing outside?
But then The Rescues discovered D.E.A.T.H. of the Squeaky. And they were hooked. And it was good. The hole they ripped into Mr. Mouse was more of an embowelment, and Mr. Mouse squeaked no more.
Peace reigned in the Price Batcave, and manuscripts were properly edited. Silently.
Well…until they discovered the UPS dude…