Friday, August 8, 2014

The Night of the Wronged Angel

*stumbles to the microphone*

*blinks groggily out at the blogging audience*

*yawns frightfully and asks…*

Where the heck is the sun?

*glares down at the innocent mutt with a halo hanging crooked off her left ear*

Funny thing about the sun, it doesn’t come up until after the freaking dawn breaks!

*with the eyes of a wronged angel, the dog curls up into a tiny, tiny ball on the couch and looks forlornly at the blanket not covering her yet*

*scowls but dumps an afghan on her head*

Yeah, well, “somebody” wanted to get up early this morning.

The other “somebody” in the house had no choice but to follow 15 pounds of fur down the stairs and out the back door into the swamp which is the north Florida night. (The bugs are gargantuan out there. Forget the flyswatter and grab the machete.)

Twenty minutes later and the sun is still not up.

The blogger and her lump of gently snoring dog under the blanket will be kind to you loyal readers today and not force anymore of my pre-dawn mumbling on you.

I think we have all (excluding the sweet puppy, of course) suffered enough for today.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

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