My father sent me an interesting email this evening, on account of I apparently haven’t blogged for three days and he’s concerned that I may have died. I didn’t, of course. I have merely been sucked into a maelstrom of holiday frivolity, which basically means I have been overseeing cousin relations in-between eating everything that isn’t nailed down.
Also, my nephews got an Xbox Kinect. So, um, I have been busy smoking Chickadee at Just Dance. HA!
Anyway, we continue to be impressed with how well the dog is adjusting to the various craziness—different house, extra kids, people coming and going. I kind of expected her to just lose her mind, but she’s done remarkably well. I’m sure it’s only partially because she’s figured out that both my sis-in-law and my nephews are only too happy to feed her.
Of course, I do have some bad news to relay.
While I am doing just fine, there HAS been a casualty of Christmas I must report.
I mean, sunrise, sunset… everything has a season… blah blah blah, whatever song you sing, the point is that stuff happens and that’s how it is. Right? Right. I knew when I ordered Licorice’s Christmas present that I was setting up a bad situation, but I couldn’t help it. I mean, the trip has been so stressful for her and all. I just wanted to do something nice for her.
But from the first time I heard that little “Ohhhhhhhhhh NOOOOoooOOOoooOOOoooooo!” I knew he was doomed.
I’m so sorry, Mr. Bill.
Um. Look out?