Zorro has no power over the weather.

I recently started reading Isabel Allende's Zorro and was surprised at how easily I fell into it. It's a delightful book, the characters are endearing, and the plot moves along at a good clip with pleasant surprises in store. My only complaint was that the 3rd person omniscient narrator suddenly interrupts on page 89 with his own voice and alludes to his role in the story. It's terribly abrupt, and (I looked) the only other place he speaks is literally the very first sentence. Jarring.

But my complaint against the narrator is beside the point. The book had been recommended to me over and over, and I finally read it, loved it, and couldn't wait to see what happened next.

That's when we had a week or so of violent thunderstorms. And this little guy

got frightened while the fiance and I were at the gym. And he took it out on Zorro:

Of course, I immediately tried to find which page I'd been on and see if I'd lost any valuable story information. The two main characters have a pivotal experience in the ten pages between where I stopped reading and where Puck deemed I should pick back up. I'm off to Grumpy's this week to find another copy and finish that story. And the house has been puppy-proofed - mostly.