I’m not home this weekend, but they have dogs where I am!
Today I met Oggy and Greta and at least ten other dogs at a farmer’s market in the mysteryland where a flying machine transported me this weekend. I won’t tell you who is who, but each is probably who you think he/she is.
You are my sunshine,
my only sunshine,
you make me happy
despite your bile.
You’ll never know dear
how much I love you.
You just speak
and you make us
all smile.
First thought: how did that branch grow through the boards? Duh.
That kind of stuff doesn’t happen on Sunnybrook Farm, where I live. We just sit around with our sunglassed babies on our laps wondering what karma has in store for those loudmouth nature-destroying New York kids.
I’ve often pondered the destructive nature of children of a certain age.
On those times when it caused me distress, I think consuming a gooey cookie the size of my head would have given me great solace.
You could die tomorrow, honey, go eat three of them.
And then you killed them.
Right?