Indeed she has!  Victory smiles upon our newly shorn tow-headed  master!  She understands my extensive vocabulary!  And with great joy our hero grabs said raiments and thrusts them into the basket of laundry, only to pull them out again with gleeful shouts:  "Dada!  Dada!  Dada!"

And all of the townspeople cheered for the masterful one of the shirt, the flaxen child who so cleverly proclaimed that "Dada!"  was more universal than one could have ever known.  And, with a great sigh of exhaustion, and one eye toward the Whisk bottle, our hero mounted his steed and rode off into the afternoon sun.   "Dada" he whispered, as his shadow faded into the horizon.   "Dada…."

Stay tuned for the next chapter--Journey to the Hills of Bethel, and soon to follow The Night That Was Halloween...