Dispatch from the Sofa

This morning I am at home, as I don't go to work until 12:30. I am teaching a class this fall for Catholic University's graduate library school, so I am supposed to be working on that. I have done one or two little things, but keep getting stymied as passwords don't work or files aren't where they are supposed to be. My course is mostly online, so all the files have to be online. When I got discouraged with this enterprise, I decided to lie on the sofa for a minute or two. I have recently, and very wisely, decided to locate my office in our living room, which happens to house a fabulously comfortable sofa. Lying there, with my grand-dog nearby, was very pleasant. Until ... WHAT THE HELL IS THAT SMELL? It's making my eyes water. Damn it. The damn dog has gas.

The damn dog is here with us for a week while her parents (my son and his wife) take their 3 precious bundles to the beach. Jake called about 2 weeks ago to tell me they'd rented a beach house. I thought to myself, gosh, he's going to invite us to visit them! Wrong. Could we keep the dog?

My nutty husband loves the dog, and I don't really mind her, so I said yes. Well, the nutty husband is off doing his job which involves watching professional football players knock each other over for fun and profit, which leaves me to deal with the dog and her highly toxic gastrointestinal system. Man, this dog needs one of those nuclear radiation warning signs.

Since I'm not getting any work done, I thought I'd photograph the dog. She is impossible to photograph as she never stays still. Meet Buttercup, radioactive chesapeake bay retriever:











I had to hold her still with my feet.
I was on the sofa.







Hah! Now the crafty dog is on the sofa!