Beatin' the heat

The border collie heard it first. "It's raining," he said. There wasn't a cloud in the sky. I thought he was in insulin shock. It's been in the 90s, way warmer than we're comfortable with especially this time of year. Sure enough, I heard it too. A whooshing sound. Water. I grabbed my leather flying cap and headed out to investigate. It didn't take long to figure out what was going on. Right next door was a long line of natives waiting to use the newly installed weather beater.


OK, I admit it. I ducked in the house and grabbed a shower cap and took my place in line.

Gesture

We're back from two not-all-that-relaxing weeks off. The border collie got sick during our vacation and now we have to stick him with a needle twice a day.


The border collie won't admit he's sick. He calls it a plot by the white coats to extract more dead presidents from a couple of working dogs.


I'm worried. I've gotten used to the border collie and, well, chasing the natives is now completely up to me -- squirrel and rabbit aren't part of the approved diet the white coats developed for the border collie. I was pacing the floor when the doorbell rang over the weekend.


I opened the door to find this basket on the doorstep with a note to the border collie. We hope you get well soon, it read, signed, the natives.

On holiday

The housemates are wandering around in Ireland for a while, so we're taking a holiday of our own for a bit. The natives say they'll behave. We'll see.