I woke up to this nonsense blanketing my world yesterday:
That is not what my front yard and deck should look like on May 6th. Ever. Haley and I are doing the Women's Run tomorrow morning. That should be fun. Maybe I should wear snowshoes? No, it's melted already, but it will still be cold.
So we got a call from Sam yesterday. He's in Hawaii (jealous!), and his dog, Mojo, who usually stays with us on the weekends that Sam comes to town, was staying with some of his friends. He dug his way out of their yard, and they had to bail him out of jail. They fixed the fence, but Mr. Slippery escaped again. Sam said that a coffee kiosk called him (luckily Mojo was wearing his tags), and that he was there. We went to pick him up, and it was obvious he had been out a while. He was wet and cold and muddy. And he smelled like butt, so I gave him a bath in our tub. Now he smells like strawberries (sorry, Sam!). I was very honored to be the recipient of Mojo's undying love kisses on our ride back to the house. And now my car smells like death, but it needed a bath anyway. So Vanny is next on the list for a good scrubbin'. Mojo stood very nice and still during his bath, but for some reason he wouldn't take his head out from under my arm. He planted it there, and there it stayed for the whole episode. I thought it was funny.
