It doesn’t take a wizard to figure out the last thing a girl should do is go running hundreds of miles away from home to Vermont just because a man asks her to do so. It also doesn’t take a pretty girl with pigtails and a pooch named Toto to tell you that there is absolutely, positively, no place like home.
Just thinking about wizards and terriers makes me wish I were Dorothy—sleepily opening my eyes to Auntie Em placing a cold rag on my forehead. In my case it would be Kissie sitting at my bedside with a jumbo cold compress. “Wake