Dufus had rushed off to who knows where. Maryse and I figured we'd meet up with him at Rover's Rump a little later in the day. In the meantime, we had a blast, talking about Dufus while he wasn't there and rearranging his album collection by color. (Just to mess with him.)
It was late in the evening when we heard the garbage cans outside crashing around. "Dufus is home!" we both said in unison, laughing and having a good time. Perhaps it was the empty bottles on the kitchen counter that were responsible for our levity, but seriously, it had been an awesome day.
We were just about to go open the door leading out to the deck to let him in, when we noticed a pair of eyes peering in through the kitchen window.
How had she gotten Dufus's address?
There was only one thing to do. We turned out the lights and turned up the tunes.
(That would be Ziva.)
Maryse whispered, "For once in my life, I'm actually glad Dufus has an album for every occasion."
To be continued...
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Now, go away from my window and go check out who else is writing about Dylan today over at We Work for Cheese. (Just don't tell Nicky who sent you.)