The Doorbell Rang

first being I understood the chapter fairy well and I wanted to be able to tie the story into what we have learned in an alternative form. The book featured additionally has to do with cookies, and everyone loves cookies. The book titled, The Doorbell Rang, by Pat Hutchins, tells a story about sharing and the breakdown of numbers. In the beginning of the story we learn about a mom who makes batch of cookies. Her two children count up the cookies

I lived in a huge neighborhood in Montgomery Alabama called County Downs, in a large brick two-story house with a patch of fresh green grass in the front yard where two trees strongly stood. My dog was kept in the backyard surrounded by a metal fence with a metal gate. When the gate opened, the bolts made an obnoxious loud squeak, which could be heard from all the way upstairs inside of the house. The neighborhood was located right next to some unpleasant, dark, and crime filled apartments. Those

the TV on. I wonder who turned it on and thought that something was recording and I turned it off.  "BEEP BEEP BEEEEEP"went the microwave and the popcorn was done and we went down stairs. When we got down there our doorbell rang. We went up stairs and we got to the top and the doorbell rang again. I went to the door and

blank page stared at me, killing my pride. “Look at you,” it said. “Self-made, you say you are, independent you say you are. But you can't even think of a single word to type on me! HaHA! What a writer you are!” 12:00AM, 1:00, 1:30, 1:45AM. My doorbell rang. I ignored it. “You're just trying too hard,” I thought to myself. I relaxed, and started to type: Once upon a time… “Too generic,” I thought, erasing it bitterly. I wrote again: She shivered bitterly in the cold, turning back once more to the

that my right of freedom of speech was violated. He apologized and said that he would sit down and have a long talk with all of his men. I went home and felt good that I had stuck up for myself. The Soldier On Saturday as I was eating breakfast my doorbell rung. I

Paper 2: The Boy Who was Raised as a Dog and Other Stories from a Child Psychiatrist’s Notebook Summary Dr. Bruce Perry, an incredible psychiatrist, describes some of his many experiences with extremely traumatized children in his novel, “The Boy who was Raised as a Dog and Other Stories from a Child Psychiatrist’s Notebook”. Throughout this book, Dr. Perry presents just a slight insight into what children all over the world experience: violence, neglect, abuse, starvation. Due to the effects of

The sky became dark as the sun was slowly coming down on an August eve. the sun glare cast among the old Bed and Breakfast. As the sun was coming down the light on the house the paint peeling off of the side of the house. The crackling fire is burning bright as the room brightens up with a warm hickory log smell spreading through out the bed and breakfast. “Don't cry honey, everything is going to be okay, this is the last time i'll ever cheat on you, she means nothing to me. I was drunk

players were meeting me at my house to carpool to the final game of the state championship tournament. Everyone knew that the hard work had paid off when we won the semi-final game the preceding day. The time on the clock was 4:30 when the doorbell rang, fifteen minutes early. My three teamates were extremely anxious to get to the Center. I opened the front door and to my

Parker: Haha, okay Momma Jin, I will let you go so you can have a good day. After sending her last text to Nichole, Parker went straight back to Tumblr. Only glancing up when the small doorbell rang, indicating that someone had come in. The small Starbucks stayed quiet for about an hour until the doorbell rang out again, this time three girls walking in. Parker watched the three girls with curiosity as they all giggled over something. Each of the girls was shorter than her, Parker had guessed

I’m a twenty-three year old named Ella that still lives with my parents and is hated by them. I was sleeping comfortably in my bed on a Monday morning until I heard my mom screaming at me. This was a typical morning. “Wake up! If you don’t, I’m going to call your dad up here!” screamed my mom. I sat up groggily, yawning, sneezing, and coughing. I woke up at six AM, feeling my chest rise up and down, my throat all scratched, my nose feeling like it was stuffed with a pile of tissues. My mom glared