I could blame it on The Boy’s 18th birthday last week. Or the six month older than him miniature poodle who’s become so senile and frail, I’m thinking of fashioning one of those baby sling-things they didn’t have 18 years ago when I had my first kid to carry the dog around in. Or I could blame it on my mother learning to text message and practicing by texting me things like this.
Hi. I’m bore. I close my gates tonight.
Hi. What does this mean? :-}
The list goes on and on…
So yeah, I could blame all of that. And I don’t even have time to go trolling for new Skarsporn for you all because as I type this out on my patio at 10:15 pm, after Dementia Dog woke me up at 4 this morning, said Dementia Dog is walking into the glass door because he senses I’m out here instead of in there where he wants me to be.
At least the poodle knot on top of his head gives him a little padding.
So, here you go. I have most of the next Revamped done. And all of the next chapter of The Great Repression done, but I need to at least finish the next chapter before I post it. You’ll see why when I do. But, for now, there’s this.
And now I must go rescue a slightly bewildered blind poodle who’s a Viking vampire’s age in dog years.