as follows, to wit; 200 words, give or take a score or so,
utilizing the following elements: Nightwing, Alfred, a hairdryer,
the phrase "What are you doing to that sheep?"

Yes, maybe I am crazy and a little sick. So are you going to write,
or what?

The boy's crazy as a loon, but that's besides the point. It ran over
200 by a bit more than a score. 290 words.

Shear Madness

Dick Grayson sniffed again. The pantry was cold, and it was making
his nose run, by that point. He'd only been in there since like six
that morning.

He figured Alfie would come in at breakfast time for something, and
would see him. Then he hoped at lunchtime.

But not only was Alfred obviously NOT cooking for the household, like
a good Alfred should, but he was ignoring Dick. Dick knew why. He
overheard Alfie say to Bruce that if they ignored this teenage
rebellion, it'd simply wear itself out.

They were going to notice him this time. Unlike the detensions and in-
school suspensions, and Robin asking Harvey Bullock for a cigar, this
was going to be something they couldn't overlook.

Dick turned on the hair dryer he'd brought with him again, passing
his hands in front of the nozzle for warmth. Just then, the door
opened, and Alfred turned on the light.

"Young man," Alfred reprimanded sternly.

Dick grinned proudly. "I know what you're going to say. You're going
to say `What are you doing to that sheep?'" He announced, gesturing
to the blue-dyed wool and the dozens of tiny pink hair barrettes
clipped to the poor, tired animal. "And I have a really good

"No, Master Richard… I'm going to ask what THAT," Alfred replied,
pointing to the hair dryer, "is doing out of it's proper place in the
bathroom. Master Bruce had gone crazy the whole morning, looking for
it, and made himself late for work—refusing to leave until his hair
was properly dried."

Dick's shoulder's slumped. "What about the sheep?"

"What sheep?" Alfred asked casually, snatching the dryer from Dick,
then closing the pantry door, leaving the boy and his farm animal