Saturday's Storyteller: "That's the last time I let you pick the family pet."
by Belinda Roddie "That's the last time I let you pick the family pet." Elliott Hound of Hound's Head was drinking from a flagon, celebrating ten years of steady business in Yardley. A bright-eyed thirty-six-year-old despite the alcohol intake, he was partially eavesdropping on a conversation between a disgruntled woman and from what he assumed her scrawny red-headed husband - and partially looking through the frosted window set between one of the corner booths and a framed sketch of August Wilson by Elliott's happy and artistic seven-year-old protégé of a niece. Outside by the small house nestled between Hound's Head and the general store, Elliott's son Gabriel was building a small castle in the sandbox, using two red buckets and a plastic green shovel to build the turrets and the towers. Dangling off the corner of the box was the thick blue tarp that Elliott would throw across the crate every night, so the rain and the angry cats didn't try to