“Down Uncle!” Chuck shouted, his affectedly masculine voice breaking, “piss off!” Holding his rifle high above his head with one hand he kicked at the dog and it yelped, taking off into the snowy trees.
“Hey!” yelled Momma from the closed kitchen window, loud enough that he turned, “don’t do that! What say I kick you instead!”
Dalia took a spoon from the drawer to try the fruit salad she was preparing.
“It tastes like bad breath,” said Fritzi, turning around in her office chair before the television.
“It’ll taste like blood if you don’t stop saying that,” said Momma. “Go ahead, Dalia, try it.”