Oh sweet holy Jesus...
My dog's gassing me out. She's on a silent-but-deadly 10 minute cycle. The quantity and composition of said fumes are overwhelming. Possibly lethal.
Speaking of...And, I must say, only at 1 in the morning and after a generous supply of super delicious red wine can something like this be considered important enough to write about. About. Dangling preposition. Is it? Dangling or a preposition? Oh, my fingers smell like garlic. Scrummy! Ah, pasta. Dinner. The succulent memories...
Oh, yes, speaking of. That's it. One of the "bonuses" of our last house was the backyard. Not really a yard, as such, but a fenced in concrete slab where Veli could run, chase cats, and, well, do her thang. In the beginning, Veli wasn't so fond of this particular aspect of the yard. She became accustomed to the multiple park walks and the soft cushy grass on her bum. Who would trade all that in for the cold hard reality of concrete? Not me, sister. But, Veli's a sport. And a dog, lest we forget (as we sometimes do, humanizing her and all). So. For six months, she had her park walks but embraced the concrete for her...private doings. Now, that we have moved back down the hill (whoopee!), there is, alas, no more concrete slab. In my innocence, I presumed she would, once again, revel in the cool grass.
Silly pet owning lady!
Veli has decided that she much prefers to perform #1, shall we say, in the middle of the road. The result? Dark rivulets of dog pee. All shapes, all designs, all in various stages of dryness. She has made our little drive into quite an abstract work of art. As for, ehem, #2, she prefers a pedestrian foot bridge over the lovely River Miljacka. Tricky, very tricky, but I have become quite the adept plastic bag-pooper scooper-picker upper.
Hmm. I am not sure this is fit material for public consumption. I will "save as draft" and attend to my nightly ablutions.
She reviewed the draft and, lo, it was, um, adequate.
Speaking of...And, I must say, only at 1 in the morning and after a generous supply of super delicious red wine can something like this be considered important enough to write about. About. Dangling preposition. Is it? Dangling or a preposition? Oh, my fingers smell like garlic. Scrummy! Ah, pasta. Dinner. The succulent memories...
Oh, yes, speaking of. That's it. One of the "bonuses" of our last house was the backyard. Not really a yard, as such, but a fenced in concrete slab where Veli could run, chase cats, and, well, do her thang. In the beginning, Veli wasn't so fond of this particular aspect of the yard. She became accustomed to the multiple park walks and the soft cushy grass on her bum. Who would trade all that in for the cold hard reality of concrete? Not me, sister. But, Veli's a sport. And a dog, lest we forget (as we sometimes do, humanizing her and all). So. For six months, she had her park walks but embraced the concrete for her...private doings. Now, that we have moved back down the hill (whoopee!), there is, alas, no more concrete slab. In my innocence, I presumed she would, once again, revel in the cool grass.
Silly pet owning lady!
Veli has decided that she much prefers to perform #1, shall we say, in the middle of the road. The result? Dark rivulets of dog pee. All shapes, all designs, all in various stages of dryness. She has made our little drive into quite an abstract work of art. As for, ehem, #2, she prefers a pedestrian foot bridge over the lovely River Miljacka. Tricky, very tricky, but I have become quite the adept plastic bag-pooper scooper-picker upper.
Hmm. I am not sure this is fit material for public consumption. I will "save as draft" and attend to my nightly ablutions.
She reviewed the draft and, lo, it was, um, adequate.
posted by J. at
3:19 PM
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