I don't reckon the sun's ever come up quite the same since the day it happened. I've been watching it for years now and to me it still don't look right somehow. Maybe it's just me thinking it, sending myself doolally after what I've done. But I swear every morning it creeps up and it's looking at me, all knowing like. And when you reckon the sun's acting like that over you there isn't a right lot you can do about it, beyond burying yourself away like a mole in the soil. That's what I've been doing more or less in the score or so years that have gone by since. But however tight I shut them curtains to stop that damn sun lighting me up, it still don't stop the inside of my head from pounding out the truth. No way it's ever going to stop harassing me neither, not unless the deaf and dumb lass was to happen right back on my doorstep and give me the chance to tell her that it wasn't never meant to work out this way. The deaf and dumb lass went by the name of Mitzi Barker. Her being deaf and dumb, she was the kind of lass you went up the lane with if you didn't want no-one shouting their gob off about it after. Funny but it's the small things I recall best about her, like the way her hair reeked of bonfires and how that little old checkered dress of hers rode right up her thigh with no help from me. After we'd finished our business we'd head over the trout farm and I'd hunker down and poach us up a couple of rainbows for our tea. That Mitzi Barker, she was thin as an ear of barley and I always figured a good nosh-up was the least I could do for her troubles. The narrator probably spent this much time on his rendezvous with Mitzi: - not enough information - One week. - One afternoon. - One year.
One afternoon.

(Question)
"If you can answer three questions," the dog said, "you can wear the magic shoes." Tommy looked up and down the deserted street. "Did you ... say something?" "That's right. Didn't you hear me?" It was a gruff voice, with just a trace of an English accent, and it was definitely coming out of the dog. "You're a dog." In fact it was a huge, fat bulldog, with big flaps of skin hanging off the sides of its face. From where it sat, on the front steps of the abandoned motel, it looked Tommy straight in the eye. "That's correct," the dog said. Tommy stared hard at the dusty windows of the motel office. "This is a trick, right? There's a TV camera back there and you want to make me look stupid." "No tricks, Tommy. Just three questions." "C'mon," Tommy said. He deepened his voice. "Sit up." The dog stared at him. "Roll over. Play dead." "Cut the crap, Tommy. Do you want the shoes or not?" "Let me see 'em." The dog shifted its weight to one side, revealing a battered pair of red Converse All-Stars. "Yuck," Tommy said. "Those are gross." "Maybe," the dog said, "but they're magic." "What are the questions?" "Which of the following presidents died in office? Lincoln, McKinley, F.D.R.?" "C'mon. They all did. That's the same dumb question they use when they're trying to sell you a free portrait on the telephone." "Which weighs more, a pound of feathers or a pound of lead?" "They both weigh a pound. This is stupid. Next you're going to ask me who's buried in Grant's Tomb." The dog narrowed its eyes. "Have you done this before?" "Ulysses S. Grant," Tommy said. "Lemme see the shoes." They were just his size and felt pretty good, even though they were scuffed up and the metal things were gone out of the side vents. "I don't feel any different," Tommy said. "You need the shoes to look for the treasure," the dog said. "What treasure?" "When you're wearing the shoes, you can open the doors of the motel rooms." Tommy didn't believe the dog was talking to him because - Dog's don't talk - not enough information - It was a bull dog - The dog was fat
(Answer)
Dog's don't talk

"Have you ever been in a situation that was getting out of control and you were able to calm it down before it escalated further? What was the situation and what did you do or say?" As senior members of a Boy Scout Troop, other adults and I had to instruct two younger member on how to recognize and control emotions in the context of conflict. These two guys had a history of conflicts and I knew people won't always be present to control them. They had to grow up and be self-sufficient. On one camping trip they yet again had another heated argument over something trivial that kept escalating. Rather than jump in, I wanted to see how they deescalate the situation on their own. Suddenly, one of them pulls out a pocket knife and says "[insert demand here] or I'm gonna [insert some action with a knife to a person]." The situation has clearly escalated too far. Immediately I rushed in and yelled, "STOP! DROP IT, NOW!" He immediately dropped the knife, sat down, and began crying. What happens after that is irrelevant. Perhaps it's due to my quiet nature and sudden outburst that produced the shock effect. But more importantly the use of straight-forward, succinct commands can control the situation because all parties involved are automatically in natural fight-flight mode where elaborate, long explanations aren't going to be interpreted correctly by listeners for the purposes of deescalating the situation's climax. The long talk comes when the immediate conflict is temporarily resolved. * IMPORTANT NOTE: This incident is not a reflection on the Boy Scout of America, its spirit, or the use of such tools. The pocket knife is commonly used throughout camping trips. We have a set of rules and responsibilities set to the users so that they are used for the camping purposes. As an Eagle Scout myself, I am proud of the values promoted. The author probably believes that: - The boys scout is good for boys. - not enough information - The boys scout will help the young members. - The boys scout is a good program.
The boys scout will help the young members.