When I got across, I looked back and saw Tyson giving Grover a piggyback ride (or was it a goatyback ride?).

He was slumped over, blood trickling from the side of his mouth. I shook his furry hip, thinking, No! Even if you are half barnyard animal, you're my best friend and I don't want you to die!

Grover started to sniffle and I figured if I didn't cheer him up he'd either start bawling or chewing up my mattress. He tends to eat household objects whenever he gets upset.

Now, if you have never been hit by a flying burrito, count yourself lucky. In terms of deadly projectiles, it's right up there with grenades and cannonballs.

Meat!" he said scornfully. "I'm a vegetarian."

You eat cheese enchiladas and aluminum cans," I reminded him.

Those are vegetables.

You're Dionysus," I said. "The god of wine."
Mr. D rolled his eyes. "What do they say these days, Grover? Do the children say 'Well duh!'?"
Y-yes, Mr. D."
Then, well, duh! Percy Jackson. Did you think I was Aphrodite, perhaps?"
You're a god."
Yes, child."
A god. You.