I rushed from the bedroom when I heard the dog cry out. There was a giant in the living room swinging her by the tail. The giant was as tall as a beanstalk and stood rooted like a tree. His head brushed the ceiling. I don’t know how he got in the house. But there he was. I was mad because he was hurting the dog. She weighs sixty pounds and her tail is sensitive. The giant seemed to be one of those dim-witted ones so I rescued the dog easily by prying open the giant’s hand.
“Unfurl your hand,” I hollered. He seemed stunned by my authority.
Once released the dog crept into my arms and we lay together on the living-room floor. The giant stayed put.
I was comforting the dog when Manny Moss came in from the woodshed carrying his axe. He took in the giant, the dog, and me on the floor, and the way it was otherwise dark in the room. “Sorry,” he said, “I didn’t realize you were in a story.” He turned to leave.
“No, wait!” I cried. “You can check out that beanstalk!”
He complied and the story quickly became romantic. We lost our dignity for a few minutes in front of the giant but, oh well. 