As Donald was passing by, Ulysses snatched up the flashlight, switched it on, and proceeded to make a great show of pretending to devour it: "Nyam, naym, nyam!"
"Ulysses, what are you doing!" Donald cried. "Why are you eating a flashlight?"
"I wanted a light snack!" came the reply.
Donald stopped short, then looked at me suspiciously. "Did you teach him that?"
I nodded, beaming. (Hey! I was beaming! Get it?)
Donald paused, and shook his head. "I'm calling Social Services."
