Summer's coming up fast - put your prose on the Adverb Diet: Write a scene without using any adverbs.

It sounds simple, but:

You can't be careful, you must take care.
No one can walk quickly but they can rush.
She can't talk slowly but she can drawl.
Nothing is very pretty - but you can find exquisite items all around.

The idea is to force you to upgrade your adjectives and verbs to stronger ones instead of lazily relying on adverbs to get your point across.

For those of you who try to forget your grammar classes: Adverbs modify verbs, adjectives, and other adverbs. They often end in "ly" but not always.

The Challenge Rules:

• Please post your entries here.
• Entries are due by Monday, 23 June.
• Voting takes place from Tuesday, 24 June through Monday, 30 June in a separate thread.

Questions? Comments? Suggestions for other challenges?

Mountaintop Retreat J.M. Strother He watched me approach with an impassive face. His dog lay at his side, head up and alert. The rocking chair was still, the only real indication that I held any interest at all for the old man. That, and the fact that his eyes tracked every step of my climb. It was an invigorating climb, that last 200 feet, and it amazed me that he did it over and over every month, to carry up his groceries. That alone spoke volumes as to his contumacious ways. Good morning! I called as I reached the base of his porch steps. He leaned forward, inspecting me with his clear eyes. The dog glanced up to him, to take its cue, and getting no sign from his master, continued to lie where he was, though still on guard. Morning, he answered at length, as if in no hurry. He leaned back, resuming his former expression, as if disinterested in the situation. The dog laid its head down and relaxed. It would seem that I was judged to be no threat. Mr. Monroe, I began, placing one foot on the lowest step to judge his reaction. He remained impassive, as did the dog, so I took the liberty to climb the rest of the stairs and step onto the porch. At this the dog got up and came over to sniff my cuffs. I stooped and scratched him behind the ear and he gave me a little wag of the tail in appreciation. My name is Mike Jenner, from the USGS. I extended my hand. He looked at my hand for a long moment, as if judging its merits, before taking it in his own. His hand shake was firm, solid as a rock, but not so firm as to be cruel. Mr. Jenner. He returned my name to me. No niceties, no Pleased to meet you. Indeed, I was sure he was not pleased at all. I looked back down to where my Jeep was parked next to his old Ford pickup truck, and wiped the sweat from my brow. You've got quite a climb there, I observed. It's not so bad, the old man mused. Then, with a wry smile he added, Keeps me in shape. Meaning, of course, that I was out of shape. He was right. Well, Mr. Monroe, the reason I'm here... He barked out a short sharp laugh and held up his hand to forestall me. I know why you're here, Sonny, and it was a waste of a trip. I ain't going anywhere. I looked out over the vast vista and appreciated why he did not want to leave. The scene was breathtaking. The Cascades rolled on in magnificent glory as far as the eye could see. The crisp mountain air bit at my lungs. Hawks soared in the bright blue sky, riding thermals in their patient hunt for food. It was an idyllic setting, but sad to say, not one that would last. Now, Mr. Monroe, please. Listen to reason, I begged. Our instruments indicate that the mountain is going to go, I mean blow its top this time explode... And if it does, I'll be killed, he finished for me. You're not telling me anything I don't know, Sonny. Hell, you're the third, no the fourth person to come up here to rescue me. Can't you Gov'ment types get it through your heads that I don't need rescuing? This guy was obstinate, just like Harry Trueman had been, on Mount St. Helens, back in 1980. What makes old people so bullheaded, I wondered. Once the mountain starts to go, I continued, there won't be any way to help you. He shook his head and rose to his feet with a sigh. Come on inside, Sonny. It's a long dusty drive up, and it'll be no better going down. I'll get you something to drink. Tea? He ushered me through the door. Stay, Pocco. The dog stayed outside, left to watch us through the screen. His cabin, as the national media referred to it, was a large two story log house, uncluttered, decorations were sparse, but nice. It may have started out as a small cabin, over a century ago, but it had enjoyed several additions through the years. It had large open rooms with big windows all around offering magnificent views wherever one turned. There was a large central stone hearth in the great room, bright braided rugs on polished pine floors. I could see that there was a modern kitchen in the back, appointed with nice cookery and utensils. He led me to the kitchen and bid me have a seat while he puttered by the stove. It was a gas stove, which surprised me. We switched to LPG back in 1975, he informed me as he put a kettle on to boil. Mary insisted on it. She just got fed up with cooking on the wood burner. Green tea OK with you? He got out two large mugs and put a tea bag in each. He sat in the chair opposite me and gazed out the window. See that tree out there? I looked out the window and saw a small windswept mountain laurel clinging to a little rise a couple of dozen feet off the back porch. That's Mary's tree. There was a tender, sad look in his eye as he regarded the tree. I planted it over her grave. Back in '83. I didn't know what to say. Just then the kettle began to whistle and he got up to tend to the tea, rescuing me from the awkward moment. Sugar? No, thanks. He took me on a short tour of his home, as we sipped our tea. He showed me the fireplace mantel, which had been a summer long project he had done with his son Richard, when the boy was around 11 years old. Richard would be 47 now, if he had not died in an auto accident when he was 29. He took me upstairs. We paused on the first landing. My water broke here, he informed me. Dad wasn't home, so mom went upstairs and birthed me herself. He took me up and showed me the room where he had been born, in the same bed that stood there now. He told me about his family, his daughter Irene who worked out in Cincinnati, his other son Ben, down in L.A. He told me about their kids, and his great grandchildren, all of whom had walked the trails here with him. He showed me the notches on the bathroom door marking the heights not only of his own children, but those of his grandchildren, with the dates written in Mary's fine hand beside each notch. The last one was dated July 82, for a granddaughter named Wendy. On the way down the stairs he paused at the upper landing and showed me the stained glass window there; a white dove flying up into Heaven. Irene had made that, and given it to him the year after Mary had died. We ended our tour in the great room, tea cups now empty. The old man looked around, as if trying to take in every detail of the house, each detail a memory. I was born in this house, Mr. Jenner. As was my father. You may have been born here, Mr. Monroe, I said, but that does not mean you have to die here. And if it turns out we're wrong, then you can come back up after things have settled down again. I'm 92 years old, Mr. Jenner. I'm not trying to be cantankerous, or make the national news. I just want to be left alone, in this place my home. With my memories. With Mary. He looked at me with those crystal clear eyes. Old, sad eyes. If God decides he's going to take this mountain, well then, he's going to take me too. 'Cause I ain't going anywhere. He walked me back to the door. Pocco welcomed us back with a wag of the tail. Mr. Monroe glanced down at the dog. An odd expression crossed his face and he said, Just a minute, and ducked back inside. Within a few seconds the old man reappeared with a dog leash in his hand. I don't have a lot of time left in this world, whether or not the mountain blows. But Pocco here is just a pup, a two year old. Do me a favor, won't you, and take him with you? He's still got a lot of living to do. I took the leash with some reluctance. Pocco watched it change hands with great concern. I'll bring him back up to you when this is all over, I said, trying to find some words of comfort. That is kind of you, Mr. Monroe replied, shaking my hand again. Pocco did not want to leave, but went with me on a command from his master. He trailed behind me down the long walk, tail between his legs. He would not get into the Jeep, so I had to pick him up and set him on the passenger seat. As we pulled away the dog curled up in a miserable ball next to me, sad eyes searching mine for comfort. I had none to offer.

I was working on this story before I saw Jon's. It's a coincidence that it is also about a dog. "Marta's Dog" The night I faced the man with the knife, I was walking within a block of my apartment.. I was a fool to think that I was safe in my own neighborhood. Not that I thought much of my neighborhood in the first place. I moved into one of those studio apartments with a view of the street decorated with beer bottles and fast food wrappers, sound effects provided by screaming children in the daytime and screaming adults at night, and an odor one would usually attribute to dump sites. The main attractions of the site were the low rent, proximity to public transportation, and the hope that this would be a temporary situation until I could find a house I could afford. That hope decreased each week as the housing prices seemed to have no peak, and I came to the demoralizing realization that my new employer was downsizing by retiring out older employees and bringing in new workers to replace them. They attracted people such as myself with promises of promotional opportunities that they had no intention of keeping. The combination of the noises around me, job discouragement, and the unsettled nature of my mind caused me to have restless nights where I could not find a way to sleep. I took first to pacing around my apartment but, it was so small, that I ventured out on the streets. Intellectually I knew the risk, but I thought, somehow, danger was something other people experienced and not me. I didn't register the man's face. He was a dark figure walking toward me. His blond hair caught the street light but nothing else distinguished him. "Got a match?" "No, sorry, I don't smoke." I expected he would walk past me but he stopped in my path so I had to as well. "Got anything to drink?" "No, I'm afraid not." I stepped to the side but he moved with me. "So, you got any money?" His hand moved from his pocket and I could see the shine of metal between his fingers. In truth, I had none. I had my keys in my pocket and nothing else. While I tried to think of something to distract him, fate in the shape of a large dog intervened. The animal galloped across the streeta big, dark dog with a great open mouth. After him ran a woman. "Obey, Tee," she yelled. "Obey." The man glared at the dog but only for a moment. He turned and ran into the darkness. The dog didn't follow. He stopped to investigate me. He pressed against my leg and licked my hands. "Silly dog." The woman grabbed the collar of the animal and clipped a black leather leash onto the D-ring. "I have to thank that silly dogI think he saved my life." She brushed a strand of hair from her face. "Really?" "I think I was about to be robbed, or worse. Your dog scared the guy." She laughed. "Hard to imagine anyone afraid of Teehe's a pacifist." "He's a beautiful animal. Labrador?" "Mostly, I guess. I found him. A stray. His heritage...well...?" She shrugged. "Well, I'm in his debt. I'm heading back to my apartment. So should you. That creep may return." "You forget. I have Tee as my protector." I watched them walk down the sidewalk before I returned to my apartment. I called the police but my inadequate description resulted in nothing more than a worthless police report. I made a mental note that I needed to remember to take my cell phone on future walks, but, of course, I didn't. I hated being attached to an electronic leash. The next night I walked to the same spot with the hope the woman and dog would return. They did. She smiled. Tee jumped against me. I treated him with chicken strips I saved from dinner. Then he licked my fingers clean, gentle as a kiss. I exchanged names with her. She was Marta. We three strolled through the night as if old friends. Emboldened, I met them again, and then again. The third night, a night of a full moon and light breezes, Marta surprised me by appearing with a man and Tee was no where to be seen. "Hello." She smiled. "I'd like to introduce you to a friend of mine. This is Tobey." "My pleasure," he said. He a slim man, dressed in a wool coat too heavy for the time of year. I noticed he wore one of those dog collars with studs that young people like to shock their parents with. Large brown eyes looked from behind black bangs that concealed half of his face. He reached out his hand so I extended mine. Strangely, he bowed over my hand and kissed the palm, but I felt his tongue lightly touch my skin as if he had licked my hand. I pulled back. "Forgive," he said. He seemed, all in all, a strange companion for Marta, with her fresh face, braided hair, pink dress and flowered sandals. "Will you join us for coffee?" She asked. "He knows all about you." "No, I am meeting someone," I lied. "Where's Tee?" "Oh, he is at home. I think he has a fox tail in his paw. I'm taking him to the vet tomorrow to have it checked." "I hope it's not serious." "Not at all. Goodnight, then." Five nights passed before I saw them again....Marta and Tee, that is. Tee leaped on me. I ruffled the fur around his big head. He panted with doggy joy. "He looks fine now," I said. "Yes, of course, he's fine." "They got the fox tail out, then? No problems?" "Fox tail? Oh, no, no problems at all. See, he's the same as always." "I'm glad he's all right." "Yes, I am too." We separated. I was distracted by her strange mood and that's why I didn't see the blond man reappear in front of me. This time he revealed his knife from the beginning. "Shall we try again?" But, as before, Tee came to my rescue. The big dog pushed between us, but it was no accident this time. Tee's fierce attitude and defensive growls were intended to protect me. He grabbed the man's sleeve but the man had his knife in the other hand. The man slashed to free himself. The dog held on. I grabbed and pulled at the man but he was focused on Tee. Then Marta appeared and smashed a rock against the man's head. He and Tee fell to the ground. I kneeled beside the dog and felt the blood moistening his coat. He opened his eyes a last time and gently licked my hand, just like a kiss. He relaxed into death. "No!" Marta cried. "No!" She fell over her dog. I checked the man. He seemed unconscious but I took no chances. I used Tee's leash to tie his hands. "We need to phone the police." Marta looked up. Her swollen face glistened with tears. "I don't have a phone with me." "I don't either. But my apartment is near by. I'll be right back." This time I called 9-1-1 and the police were dispatched. But when I returned to the spot, Marta, the man, and Tee were all gone. I was left to explain what seemed an unlikely story with no witnesses to support me. I worried that the man had woke and taken Marta hostage. But why would he take Tee as well? Perhaps the dog didn't die. I wanted to think that was true. But I was wrong. Several nights later, I looked out my apartment window and I saw Marta walking a new dog down the street. I opened the window and called out to her. She smiled and waved. "What happened? Where did you go?" "Oh, the man woke up and ran away. I decided to just take Tee home. I couldn't stay with that man around." The dog growled. She snapped the leash. "Obey, Guy." He shook his big head. She slapped the end of the leash against his flanks. "You found a new dog." "Yes. I don't feel safe without one." "He's a Golden Retriever, isn't he?" "Yes, probably. You know, I just pick strays up off the street. I never know their pedigree." She waved and walked off with her reluctant charge. I closed the window. I shut the curtains. I sat in the dark for a long time. But I took no more strolls at night in that neighborhood.

Only short, but a scene that holds special significance. I walked to the river bank, Drawn to the darkness by the weight of my heart The crickets sang, the waters lulled Somewhere a gull let me know I was not alone But it was wrong, I was alone Dreams came and dreams passed They swept over my head and through my mind And I succumbed to the icy tendrils of deliverance.