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What's the Frequency, Magoo?

I'm sorry. I did not copy. Over. Your signal is garbled. Over. Nope, still not making any sense out of "daptk." What's your frequency? Over.

Magoo's tuning knob appears to be lost or broken. I twist and squeeze all over him, and every once in a while, if I hold the tinfoil just right over his head, I'll hear a clear word or syllable escape his blubberous lips.

"NO."

"Quack."

"Wash HANDS."

And then back to radio silence or secret code disguised as incoherent nonsense. The look on his face when he gets a word or phrase just right is priceless. It's a look of shock mixed with glee mixed with I-have-no-hope-of-ever-reproducing-that-sound.

By Laylee's 18-month appointment, she could say over a hundred words. In two months, Magoo will reach that age and I have no doubt he will also have a hundred words, words he understands, words for which we have not cracked the code, words for which I will pay you to tell me the correct frequency.

He is excelling in some areas more than others. He's great at brushing his own hair, and I'm glad someone was finally able to teach Laylee how to throw and catch a ball.

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