I just finished a monstrous revision, and my head is not quite my own at the moment. Regular blogging will resume shortly; in the meantime, here, have a picture of the business end (not the biggest end, alas) of a Very Large Branch that fell out of treetops less than a foot away from me and the dogs while we were engaged upon windy-day walkies.
Both of them sensed a threat and were primed for attack, but once it became clear the branch was no longer moving Sir Boxnoggin had to sidle up and pee on it. Miss B, of course, only wanted to sniff to verify it was dead and could no longer cause mischief.
I'm going to go try and get my head to stop spinning. Enjoy your weekend, my dears.
Me: This is solid marble, how…? The Princess: I dunno. Me: I'm not mad or even annoyed, just curious as all get-out. The Little Prince: Oh yeah. About that…
Apparently, it slid out of his hand and dropped just the right way onto granite countertop tile. Which is a shame, I liked this butter bell, but now I can use its parts as "planters" for the epiphytes I'm currently in love with and I can get a bell that matches the rest of the kitchen.
Yesterday was a very quiet day. We have a sick neighbor, so we made extra at each step and sent it next door. The Princess was settled on the loveseat with both dogs, but when she was called away to finish up some baking, Boxnoggin and B decided warm cushions were not to be left to waste.
They even got ham brought to their silly selves, like the spoiled brats they are. But really, look at those faces. Could you deny them anything?
Anyway, I hope your holiday was as low-stress and full of good food as ours. And I am thankful for you, my darling Readers. You’re all amazing.
Here’s to another year of stories. And especially dog stories.
After a run, Sir Boxnoggin, Lord van der Sploot, is tired and wishes to curl up upon his bed. But if the human moves, he will groan, and when the human bends to pet him, he will spill out of the bed and onto her feet, looking up reproachfully.
Don't go, he'll moan. I just got comfortable. Stay here and pet me.
Poor fellow. I can pet him for a while, of course, and make much of him, but eventually I do have to go shower. But for those few minutes while he's on my feet and I'm telling him what a good boy he is, he's content.
Sir Boxnoggin and I found this unlucky bundle of feathers while out running. The crows have already been at them, and Boxnoggin was extremely interested, but I did not let him give more than a token sniff.
Poor birdie. Nature’s cleanup crew has already recycled most of them by now, I reckon. Such bright plumage, on such a grey day.