A white Pomeranian named Fluffy flew out of a fifth-floor window in Panna, which was a brand-new building with the painter’s scaffolding still around it. Fluffy screamed in her little lap-dog voice all the way down, like a little white kettle losing steam, bounced off the bonnet of a Cielo and skidded to a halt near the rank of schoolgirls waiting for the St Mary’s Convent bus.Tch, poor little Fluffy. But what a great start to a book! Move over, 'Call me Ishmael'. I’ll probably start reading this one sometime over the weekend.
Also, this reminds me that a couple of months ago my mom asked if I would put up a picture of her Pomeranian on my site. Thematically speaking this is as good a time as any to do it, so here goes: