This is the face of a dog who does not know what his eldritch horror of an owner will do next, but wouldn’t say no to a good ear-rub.
…we left the Asshole Crow Condo out.
Despite my daughter (PRINCESS) anxiously inquiring whether or not a raccoon might move on in.
Attached please find Jerry’s proof of life, taken before dusk but after the CORPSE-FENCE INCIDENT. (Jerry could reach the top of the table but was unable to properly fly.)
I am on my last nerve and a lot of coffee this morning, so fair warning: Don’t fucking test me on this one.
The post-sluice romp has begun. House reeks of even more wet dog. Towels are everywhere.
Black sheep of the von Schtupp clan, maybe pterodactyl, actual Lady. I write books. A crow for a fetch, I'm your huckleberry.