I can't bring myself to say the whole word; it's simply too traumatic. I prefer to picture my nephews, Rafer and Redford Donkey, frolicking through a southern autumn. How civilized, how warm, how snow-free.
It has been quite bearable here lately but even as I write, the weather gurus are predicting a light dusting of sn...., well, you know. We had a surprise ambush of the wet stuff a week ago and Jack was so incensed that he had a massive attack of the screaming squitters and refused to leave the run-in all day. Very messy both inside and out. Whenever he saw the woman, he expressed himself loudly. He would prefer to live in the house but given his bathroom habits I believe it to be unlikely.
He liked last week better because the sun, weak and unmotivated as it is in November, made an appearance nearly everyday. He was able to bake himself in front of the barn, where he dozed and mumbled in his sleep and sucked on his loose front tooth. Doc has been very busy decorating his person with the bounty of fall, mainly mud, burrs and sticks. Molly has grown a sasquatch-like coat and is eating anything remotely chewable. I am brooding on the coming insanity of winter.
We are still awaiting news of Lillian Llama.