He frisks down the hillside in great bounces, flinging himself up after each landing with all the joy and lightness of a buck in love in the midst of spring. No mind that each landing crushes the greenish moss underneath him with odd squelching noises and sprays the area with foul smelling green goop. Peeper is happy and in love, so everyone must be happy and in love.
And with each bounce, he almost sings.
"My love's eyes are nothing--" Bounce, splat. "--like the sun!" Bounce, splat. "His coat is patchy!" Bounce, splat. "And his fur wiry!" Bounce, splat. "And dull!"
He pauses to navigate the rocks across a more watery stretch of mud, bounding from rock to rock with more words between each.
"And the Swamp smells better--" Bounce. "than he does!" Bounce. "But that's okay! Because I love him anyway!"
