If the wetness of this winter is set to play on repeat, I could at least try to rise above it. But right about the time I almost fix my attitude, the pressing needs of a house pooch require the experiential fullness of the morning misery, and into the morose grey blah-land I trudge, umbrella in hand and towels ready at the back door. Then I’m completely remediated in my downtrodden dumps by the patient cooperation of the very best man’s best friend, his tail wagging, his snout kissable, his loving affect lighting up the hallway where we transition from drear to dream life. That lovable Sumner is better than I deserve.
Our ventures into the muddy muck as the drizzle persisted last Friday morning took a darker turn for one very unlucky squirrel, though, as that determined hunter within the otherwise sweet Sumner scored his 11th kill. It was a messy dirty battle and Sumner got some pointed bloody pricks to his nose, but we are now down one more pesky yard rodent here. As I try to note each time these property pests are put down, we tend to be overrun with them, and they do not limit themselves to merely running around. Ask me about the outdoor furniture cushions I’ve recently thrown away because they had been ripped apart for some nest-lining stuffing.
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