Can't "C" just be for Cookie?

Yesterday I was assigned an article about convicted child molesters. Today it’s a cold colt—a colt that was left outside in last Saturday’s freezing temperatures and is barely alive. But apparently it’s alive enough to warrant an article. I’ll be driving a total of an hour and 10 minutes to seek out the horsicle and describe its frigid environs.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m crazy about the equine race. Not so crazy about pedophiles, but hey, I’ll take it. I’m just worried about the precedence this seeming pattern of C-stories is setting.

Tomorrow could have me out in search of another brand of Crazy Creature. Or perhaps it’ll be a look at the in-Crease in Callouses in Cloquet or Carlton. Maybe it will be a story about the City’s Comptroller, a Crotchety mis-Creant who Created Craters of Credit Card debt.

The only “C” I want right now is the vitamin to cure my sore throat.