“Raud, who invented the tennis ball?” Fleegle asks, mouthing his ball. “Did God invent the tennis ball?”

“Do you mean the God of the Sunday televangelist in the frosty blue suit with white lapels telling you to call the 1-800 God Needs Your Money number, or the Higher Source of the cult guru teaching simplicity so you’ll sell your car, your house, all your worldly goods and make a large donation to his ashram?”

“Oh, did I say God? My dyslexia must be acting up, I meant to say Dog.” He mouths his ball some more. “I’m pretty sure Dog invented the tennis ball so you’d have something fun to take your mind off of your religious worries.”

 

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