Playing peek-a-boo in this house comes with a price…to the tune of one eyeball.
Our Animal Kingdom
Holes
Eva is obsessed with holes. This week she found a bunch of them—in her dad’s slipper, at the end of a paper towel tube, in the lace on my sleeve. “Look! A hole,” she cried with each discovery, jabbing it with fingers, pens, and even a plast…ic knife, as though trying to hack another one next to it.
This was all well and good, until today when she lifted the dog’s tail.
Sleep with one eye open, Bean. Don’t let your guard down for a second.
Yes. That is real fur I’m wearing.
Nothing like fourteen years of a Sheppard Akita. Today there was so much fur on my jacket a PETA fanatic attacked me with a can of green spray paint.
As luck would have it
Daisy was in deep shit today—literally. We were getting the septic cleaned when she took a curious sniff and fell right in. Doug found her clinging for dear life and yanked her up by the scruff of her neck, saving her from a most abominable fate.
What naturally ensues is an addendum to the great philosophical debates: free will or determinism? Creationism or evolution? And now, Daisy: luckiest or unluckiest dog?