The dog

This is the dog. Or, more properly, a pointless photo of the slightly peeved-looking dog. The dog, you see, doesn't like to have her picture taken.

If you're looking closely, you may also notice pieces of another animal up towards the corner. That is not the dog.

The dog was ticked at me yesterday because my father had to drive up to Edmonton and asked if I would mind taking her out before I headed home. Coming so soon after my dad's trip, it naturally made the dog worried that he was leaving again.

Like any good daddy's girl, she took her worries out on me.

It makes a person feel so loved to see the dog in full-on pout.

Ah well.




I'm not going anywhere with this, in case anyone was wondering. In fact, I'm cutting the blather short today out of necessity. I'm not very blathery anyway.

I'm not very anything, really.

Did I say ah well already?







Oh. Yeah. Right. Ah well (and shut up, world), at least it's a wine gum night for the t.v. club.

Hey, you take your ups where you can find them.

Everyone say, "bye, dog."




Bye, dog.