Since I have time, and a pounding backache from pecan picking, I thought that perhaps some pictures might take my mind off the pain.
I guess the most important news is that we got rid of Belle, our Borzoi. Got tired of her aloofness, her lying, begging, and thieving. And that ridiculous pipe-cleaner tail. We went out this weekend and traded her in to a shady but nice fellow selling Afghan Hounds out of the back of a truck beind PetSmart's dumpster.
There you are, our new Afghan Hound. Got quite a deal on her.
Speaking of Belle, she's taken the vacation in stride, seeing as she didn't have to go to work with her Momma this morning. We spent the morning outside in the sunshine and cold, me picking pecans and swatting cold-resistant mosquitoes, and her shaking the stuffing (literally) out of her tiger and her squeaky ball. And now? Nap time, with her half-eaten treat and her red squeaky Santa.
And should I be remiss and not post a fresh Moustache Monday pic? Freshly taken? Heck, freshly shaven!
Dizamn, have I got some mad Photoshop skillz or what? Fo' shizzle.
That handsome feller on the left there is one of my antique cousins, one John T. Irrelephant. The pic has no date on it other than his birth and death dates, but you do see the family resemblance, especially in the lip broom. Granted mine is a lot more funky and fabulous than staid and uptight old John T. there, but we both got it goin' on, I think you'll agree. As for me? The view up my nostrils mixed with my own take on the daguerrotype poker face just isn't doing it for me. You'll also note the moustache has gone from beach bars to drag bars. Why? Just easier, honestly. I mean, there's no sense in getting all dressy on the upper if I'm just gonna flaunt it around here to the blue jays and the occasional goldfinch. Never seen any of them grow a 'stache worth half a tinker's damn, myself.
Back to work!