We are all doing our best, non-denominational rain dances in the hopes that we'll get enough of the wet stuff to keep our enormous rhododendron (that we relocated last fall) from shriveling up and dying as we try to keep from breaking the town's water ban.
All of us, that is, except for The Champ, who is just as happy as happy can be that the grass crunches against his shoes instead of sploshing them with morning dew; which, in his estimation, creates a din of squeak so outrageous that it could make a nearly deaf mouse family go mad.
If there's good news in this dry spell it's that we don't have to mow the lawn as often and I don't have to haul his 40-inch, 33 lb. body across this field, dragging the bike behind us.
No comments:
Post a Comment