A couple evenings this summer we have gone out to the golf course with Brad to hit balls and chip and putt. Let me rephrase that Brad hits balls and chips and putts. Emery picks up tees, cheers loudly for the golfers as they hit their balls while simultaneously telling me to “shhh”, runs around the putting green counting the flags, and grabbing Brad’s ball before it can make it to the hole. I chase Emery around and complain about being hot.
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