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He had three simple rules by which he lived. The first was to never eat blue food. There was nothing in nature that was edible that was blue. People often asked about blueberries, but everyone knows those are actually purple. He understood it was one of the stranger rules to live by, but it had served him well thus far in the 50+ years of his life.

Her eyebrows were a shade darker than her hair. They were thick and almost horizontal, emphasizing the depth of her eyes. She was rather handsome than beautiful. Her face was captivating by reason of a certain frankness of expression and a contradictory subtle play of features. Her manner was engaging.

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The beauty of the African sunset disguised the danger lurking nearby.

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The wave roared towards them with speed and violence they had not anticipated. They both turned to run but by that time it was too late. The wave crashed into their legs sweeping both of them off of their feet. They now found themselves in a washing machine of saltwater, getting tumbled and not know what was up or down. Both were scared, not knowing how this was going to end, but it was by far the best time of the trip thus far.

What if dogs were racist? Would they care about fur color….. “son, only play with other tan dogs”? Or maybe it would depend on breed, “honey, only play with other German Shepards, never poodles”. Better yet it could depend on occupation. “I’m a sled dog while you’re only a running companion, leave me alone”. Maybe the neighborhood they live in could be the way they choose which dogs to associate with and which to shun?