My father was a writer. He wrote articles, short stories, children's books, and satires. Short, sharp, funny parodies like, I'm Okay, but You're Not So Hot, and the literary scavengers' answer to ... [+]
Snoot the Pooch was sad one day. "I wonder why I look this way. My nose is doggone commonplace. It's just so boring on my face." "I'd feel better, I suppose, if I could have a brand new nose!" Snoot took paints and scissors out, and made six brand new cut-out snouts. Eagerly he tied one on and in a second he was gone. Just like that! Quite suddenly he found himself up in a tree. A bright red parrot perched before him, So close that Snoot could not ignore him. "Folks call my nose: ‘bill' or ‘beak.' It's hooked and thick and sharp and sleek. Not only that—I'm quite a yak-er. Just ask me if