And then Sir Buster did lift up the tomb, and there came out an horrible and a fiendly dragon, spitting fire out of his mouth. Then Sir Buster drew his sword and fought with the dragon long, and at the last with great pain Sir Buster slew that dragon.
Yes, folks--it's that time of year again! Sir Buster of the Active Inner Life here, reporting upon my latest meditation on Sir Thomas Malory's Le Morte d'Arthur. Mom reads Harry Potter, but I slay conjugations in Middle-French!
But really--A Plague has come upon the Land, and I, Sir Buster of the Too-Vivid Imagination, have responded to the call of my Beloved Guinnevere (a soft-coated wheaten terrier with lovely golden locks). Yea, forsooth, the Evil Leaf-Dragon has descended upon my realm, and I must take arms to protect my Lady and my Domain! Fie! The accursèd, churlish knave--I shall smite it!
Lay on, McDragon, and cursèd be he who first cries, "hold!" "Enough!" Oops, wrong epic--but you get the idea...
I think I showed him a thing or two!
Maybe Mom will give me a liver treat for saving the world! Being a hero is really hard work, you know.
Gotta get ready for the next episode in my imagination. I hear that Banquo's Ghost is stalking the halls and Lady McBailey is wandering around howling, "Will these paws n'ere be clean?"
Sir Buster the Leaf-Dragon Slayer