from Quantum Physics & My Dog Bob
A week before I started eighth grade, my father,
tired of my “aimless ways” as he called them, decided to give me
a project. “I’ll give you seven days to train that goddamn dog
of yours to quit digging holes in my back yard,” he said one Sunday morning.
He opened his wallet, pulled out a hundred dollar bill. “Succeed and
this is yours. Fail and you get dog shit.”