|Gus, "Charlie's hanging out with that hoodlum again, isn't she?"|
|Espresso, "Did you call me a hoodlum, bro?"|
Good Evening, Everybun!
We're still trying to squeeze all the chillaxing we can from the long weekend. We're drifting a bit at the moment, stuck between a solid deck of COVID clouds and a layer of putrid, smoggy news, watching the East Atlantic out of the corners of our eyes.
We are the major purveyors of fun for our hoomins. Whenever Charlie does anything at all, it's an "ooooh," and "aaaaah" kind of a deal. She comes over to see Espresso, eats some hay, loaves, looks at you funny, looks at you sideways, or refuses to look at you at all and stares at the wall instead. You grab the camera with hopes to get something for a "bunny but Friday," but she changes her mind by then. She's back in the bundo, flops on her side, gets another nap under her belt.
Then, in the nick of time, before the evening saaaaalads arrive, she hopes back to me, and all is well with the world. I clean her head while she's loafing; tucks out, of course.
Good Night, and Good Luck,