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Description
I laugh jovially as my dog licks my face.  He’s not much more than a puppy, and I pull him to the ground with me.  We roll together over dandelions for a little while.  Then I get up, and we resume our game of tag.  His tail wags frantically, and his eyes are wild with exuberance.  After a bit more chasing, I allow him to catch me and rub his loose coat vigorously.  His hair is so soft.  He doesn’t mind being hugged, and I hug him now.  His warmth feels good, though I am already hot, and so is he.  Between pants, he tries to reach his tongue around to continue licking my face.
Our play continues for a while longer, until my mother announces that lunch is ready.  I rush inside, my dog following close behind.  He laps up water as I gulp down milk.  My sister and I eat pizza.  After lunch, I decided I’m not in the mood for more running around at the moment, and so I walk toward the grove of pine trees on the edge of our yard, a book from my room in hand.  I sit, comfortably situated on a few inches of soft brown pine needles, sap from the tree against which I’m leaning seeping into the back part of my shirt.  My dog lies down next to me, exhausted, and sighs.  The book is Robin Hood.  It is a very pretty hardcover edition.  This version was written by Paul Creswick and has great illustrations.  It’s around three hundred pages, but only because of the spacing between lines and large font.  I open up to page two hundred thirty four and delve back into twelfth century England.
The breeze, so free and light, ruffles my hair a little, and tries to pull the page out of my hand.  I don’t mind; it feels good, and I’d rather lose my page than go without it.  And the air is so fresh.  It tastes like liberty.

Description
I laugh jovially as my dog licks my face.  He’s not much more than a puppy, and I pull him to the ground with me.  We roll together over dandelions for a little while.  Then I get up, and we resume our game of tag.  His tail wags frantically, and his eyes are wild with exuberance.  After a bit more chasing, I allow him to catch me and rub his loose coat vigorously.  His hair is so soft.  He doesn’t mind being hugged, and I hug him now.  His warmth feels good, though I am already hot, and so is he.  Between pants, he tries to reach his tongue around to continue licking my face.
Our play continues for a while longer, until my mother announces that lunch is ready.  I rush inside, my dog following close behind.  He laps up water as I gulp down milk.  My sister and I eat pizza.  After lunch, I decided I’m not in the mood for more running around at the moment, and so I walk toward the grove of pine trees on the edge of our yard, a book from my room in hand.  I sit, comfortably situated on a few inches of soft brown pine needles, sap from the tree against which I’m leaning seeping into the back part of my shirt.  My dog lies down next to me, exhausted, and sighs.  The book is Robin Hood.  It is a very pretty hardcover edition.  This version was written by Paul Creswick and has great illustrations.  It’s around three hundred pages, but only because of the spacing between lines and large font.  I open up to page two hundred thirty four and delve back into twelfth century England.
The breeze, so free and light, ruffles my hair a little, and tries to pull the page out of my hand.  I don’t mind; it feels good, and I’d rather lose my page than go without it.  And the air is so fresh.  It tastes like liberty.