Lewis House Tragedy

Two nights ago, Bob was enjoying the lingering warmth of the water from the autumn sun.  As part of a daily routine for the colder months, he was preparing to be brought into the house for the night.  All of a sudden, he was attacked by a vicious, ferocious, feral, despicable animal.  Bob hid tightly into his shelter but the animal pulled every part of Bob that it can get hold of.   All of this was happening as the rest of us were being entertained by the "Prisoner". 

When Brahms went out to get Bob, he saw the despicable furry animal run away.  He knew something was wrong.  He looked around and found out that Chekhov was alone.  Bob was no where to be found.  Brahms called us for help.  With our huge flashlight, we search all around the secret garden.  Then finally, there along the fence Bob laid helplessly on his back.   I picked him up.  Brahms knew right away that something terrible happened to Bob.  Terrible. Terrible indeed.   Brahms was so terrified, sad and angry.  We were all shocked.

Bob is alive but we don't know if he will make it.  Pain runs through my nerves every time I look at him.  I'd like to imagine that he cannot feel.  I prayed today that God will miraculously mend him. 

Bob is short for Beethoven.  Beethoven is a turtle.  He and Chekhov are Brahms' dear pets.  The animal was a racoon.