Write a paragraph about a dog, but you are strictly forbidden from using the letter 'e' anywhere in your response.

That mutt knows a good patch of shadow from a hot strip of noon ground, picks his routs by sniffing drafts no human nostril would clock, and stops for nothing short of a squirral or a wagon full of goods. Kids on front stoops know him by his walk. Old farm hands toss him scraps without a word. His world is small and total, built from mud, grass, rumbling guts, and an unshakably sunny outlook. Most of us would do good to carry half that clarity into Monday morning.