After a brief "you are not allowed to kill moles or dig more holes" speech, Melvin stood there like a Belgian statue with a stoic expression, gloomily, empty and crestfallen as the shadows and shards of sunlight play tricks on his countenance.
I'm sorry but you dig holes, it's not cool, you need to act civilized and less like a wild animal or a wolf or something. You are the happiness in this pasture of grief, please be happy for us both, I will buy you another stuffed chicken you can murderlize, I promise. π
