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When walking his highness the other day, the little devil dashed right under the cedar tree.
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He’s in there, on the left with his leash twisted around the trunk. The reason for his mad dash?
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Her. That pesky momma red squirrel, chattering loudly, scrambling up and down and driving poor Dudley nuts.
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The walk was forgotten and we spent his entire allotted outdoor time staring straight up.
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She’s such a tease.
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The youth of today. You never know what they’ll think of next. Tide pod ingestion, the cinnamon challenge, butt chugging…. if it’s stupid and dangerous? They’re bound to try it.
(What’s that you say? You’re not familiar with butt chugging? Think anal alcohol enema).
I suppose it shouldn’t surprise me this weird AF generation came up with another one. But damn it, I’m surprised.
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Yes boys and girls, there’s a new cocktail on the bar and you might have the fixings right in your back pocket.
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Color me naive, but I didn’t even know strawberry condoms existed before reading this.
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I don’t know about you, but I can honestly say I’ve never been that desperate for a cocktail.
😳
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For months we’ve had a nightly fox visitor for whom I lay out little piles of expensive dry dog food with taurine. ( It was recommended by a vet friend and is the closest I can get to the food U.K. Amazon refuses to ship to the United States) We love seeing him (her?) scoot across the lawn and settle in for a nosh. But last night?
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I was seeing double.
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Two beautiful foxes happily munching.
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Brother and sister? Husband and wife? Friends with benefits? I don’t know…
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But they’re both gorgeous!
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💕💕💕
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Isn’t it wonderful when you find the perfect combinations? Oreos and milk, Netflix and chill, bacon and, well anything. … but now? I’ve found a new winning combo.
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Exercising while intoxicated? Finally… a workout routine designed with me in mind.
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Photographic proof that even though it’s over 90 degrees and two window unit air conditioners are running full blast, his Lordship must commune with nature through an open window. And no, he’s not at all spoiled. Why do you ask?
🤣
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This is a photo of our local pub’s parking lot after a recent storm moved through. Mind you, we’re a lousy five miles away and didn’t receive a single drop of rain.
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It must have been a micro burst because it was a total mess.
Meanwhile back at the Barn Mahal…
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We have brown grass.
😫
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With menopause, bunions and a bad knee… I’m having enough trouble with 58. Screw 200.
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I’ve flown out of Boston’s Logan airport many times. Three weeks doesn’t seem out of the realm of possibility.
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I’m sorry, but that just bites.
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Finally… a scientific formula for choosing vacation destinations.
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I call foul.
I am neither loud nor boisterous, and am literally risk aversive. But Rome? I’m good with that. History, pasta and Limoncello sound like my kind of trip.
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I love my state. We have a festival devoted to clams and award those who can shuck them the fastest.
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I woke up to this the other day.
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Husband was having his coffee, I was reading the news and Lord Dudley went running to the back door.
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Where a little inter species communication commenced.
I was all for letting our little back deck visitor in, but was prohibited to do so by my grumpy husband.
Boo to unadventurous spouses.
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Every once in a while my Facebook feed drops a list of products Amazon thinks I need to purchase. Let’s examine them shall we….
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While I’m a Star Wars fan from way back and can totally see the appeal of droid pressed beverages, I don’t drink coffee… so strike one.
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Blobfish plush toy? It’s ugly, that’s true… but I don’t feel the need to own one, so strike two.
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A window cleaning robot? Now we’re talking!
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A window cleaning robot that has to be plugged in?
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A window cleaning robot that will lose suction and fall off my dirty window? Strike three.
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I’m guessing they intended this highly ruffled fashion faux pas to be worn while the robot cleans my windows, but since that was a bust… I’m calling strike four.
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Remember the picture I posted 10 days ago?
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My nemesis, momma red squirrel… doing what I assumed was chilling on the grass near our kitchen landing?
As it turns out, she wasn’t chilling.
She was splooting.
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While I’ve always believed I have a well rounded vocabulary, splooting has been noticeably absent.
Until now.
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The fur on their bellies is thinner than the rest of their body so in essence, they’re performing a heat dump.
Splooting.
There’s nothing like the satisfaction of learning a new ludicrous word.
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There are multiple reasons I blog from my phone instead of my computer… convenience, speed, user friendly app, etc.
But there’s also a more organic reason :
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And it’s name is Lord Dudley Mountcatten.
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The beast has completely taken over my office chair and has shed so many pounds of fur on its black surface I had to cover it with a towel.
He has a rough life, this cat.
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Climate change. Pollution. Drought. Shrinking natural resources. Deforestation.
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Healthy living my ass. Keep your kale and quinoa, Keith will survive nuclear winter.
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Sigh. If only I had a few million to spare.
I actually have not so fond memories of this place. Oh, it was beautiful and swank… but it also happened to be the day I realized I’d become allergic to lobster. I ate it for lunch and by the time we stopped here with friends for a drink in the evening? I ordered a margarita, took one sip and spent half an hour in the ladies room throwing up. Good times.
Not.
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Say it isn’t so!
😫
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A flight we did at a veteran owned brewery called Stars and Stripes. Appropriate, no?
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Keith.
You know he’ll be here even after the cockroaches are extinct.
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River's world..... 