Doggie Dopamine
I imagined you all loudly moaning after Wednesday's post -- TMI, TMI!! Okay, granted, mites eggs and droppings on a teenage peni... sorry, but it was creepy.
Presently listening to Lilek's podcast, The Diner, and this week he gives a Godspeed sendoff to Don Knotts. Almost forgot The Incredible Mr. Limpet, about a man who loves fish so much he morphs into one and goes on to help the good guys win WWII.
Master's home this morning awaiting the arrival of Dan from the fence company, who will give us a bid on how much it will cost to extend the backyard fence to enclose the side porch. This way Lucy and I can be freely let out the porch door without fear that we'll turn and bolt for freedom in the front yard instead of obediently walking straight to the backyard gate. It has happened that Lucy and I have disappointed Master and N more than once. All it takes is spotting a squirrel or a skunkamunka (N's term for the black 'n white-striped stink bombs) on the front lawn to snap a spotless record of inerrant behavior, and turn a peaceful neighborhood morning into chaos and shouting, "Rufus! Lucy!, come back here!!" We don't mean to disappoint, it's just that chasing a squirrel up a tree is irresistible, we literally can't help ourselves. It's like doggie dopamine, and once you've experienced it you have to have it again and again.