Sloppy

Friends,

A series of storms are set to pummel my little town (and to be honest, the rest of the state) all week, but I’m taking no chances. I’ve created a series of channels and ravines to divert water away from my back door, I’ve laid up enough wood in the house to last for a week, and I’ve had a chat with Mme. Puppy Dog about how the moisture falling out of the sky is harmless and shouldn’t deter her from using the facilities. The latter argument has fallen on deaf but pricked up ears, which suggests to me that she cares that I’m speaking, just not that concerned with the content. Before you suggest that dogs are perky, bounding idiots incapable of recognizing human speech, why must we then spell out w-a-l-k and c-o-o-k-i-e? Yeah, I thought so.

So once again, in the consequence- and largely history-free mind of my dog, I’m to blame for this downpour. These storms, clearly, are my invention, having conjured my very own El Nino current in the Pacific, for as far as she knows, this hairless ape is all-powerful (I do control the light, heat, and food—my power knows no bounds), so why not the skies?

After we get our two feet of snow (!) this week, I’ll think about letting it dry out for a while, but in the meanwhile, go outside and stop looking at me like that.

– bob