We are on the mend. Clint is rebounding nicely, is home and eating well (Our Ken's barometer of dog health is food intake - nothing more - simply food intake). You, too, are looked askance if you are eating but malingering, if you complain but are able to take nourishment. So, fair warning. Clint is, of course, in the den so Lee is able to be with him constantly. That means his nemesis, Billy the Barking Airedale, is restricted to quarters. That does not impress Billy greatly; his sense of insult is only made worse by the fact that Clint has pride of place while he languishes in the room next door. Rocky, too, must be limited since he and Clint are not close, but he doesn't care. Give Rocky a blanket and the odd milk bone and life is good. Marguerite is advocating for Billy so feels the need to peer closely at Clint each time she strolls through the room, lifting her lip in an Airedale sneer so plain that poor Clint feels the need to respond in kind. The dynamics of the house are totally off kilter. Moving one dog out of his own area makes the whole shooting match a circus.
The kennel is rocking. With a gaggle of boarding Welsh of all ages, a newly arrived Doodle, the omnipresent Shadow and a Norwich who should be but is not yet hoarse, even Elton John would be envious of the range of the company. He would be less impressed by the pitch, I fear. Generally it is Mason who leads the chorus but that particular little fellow has been planted in number three yard next to the Airedales. He has developed a lovely circuit to keep the bigger dogs exercised to his satisfaction and has been so busy that he has forgotten to exercise his lungs at the same time. Score one for Our Ken!
The little swallows continue to work tirelessly as they feed the brood. From sun up to sun down any who venture near the kitchen door take their lives in their hands. The six babies are overflowing the nest. Flight school cannot be far off. There are baby doves, baby starlings, baby red wing black birds as well as baby squirrels and chipmunks throughout the property. Horace the little frog occupies the pond and is enjoying the portulaca, the hosta, dahlias and violets as well as the waterfall. He is a new resident, named by Ken now that he appears to be more than a vagabond simply passing through.
Dinner included grilled steak, caramelized onions, spinach from the garden and baked potatoes with fresh peach compote over ice cream to round out the sharp edges. And on we go.
The kennel is rocking. With a gaggle of boarding Welsh of all ages, a newly arrived Doodle, the omnipresent Shadow and a Norwich who should be but is not yet hoarse, even Elton John would be envious of the range of the company. He would be less impressed by the pitch, I fear. Generally it is Mason who leads the chorus but that particular little fellow has been planted in number three yard next to the Airedales. He has developed a lovely circuit to keep the bigger dogs exercised to his satisfaction and has been so busy that he has forgotten to exercise his lungs at the same time. Score one for Our Ken!
The little swallows continue to work tirelessly as they feed the brood. From sun up to sun down any who venture near the kitchen door take their lives in their hands. The six babies are overflowing the nest. Flight school cannot be far off. There are baby doves, baby starlings, baby red wing black birds as well as baby squirrels and chipmunks throughout the property. Horace the little frog occupies the pond and is enjoying the portulaca, the hosta, dahlias and violets as well as the waterfall. He is a new resident, named by Ken now that he appears to be more than a vagabond simply passing through.
Dinner included grilled steak, caramelized onions, spinach from the garden and baked potatoes with fresh peach compote over ice cream to round out the sharp edges. And on we go.
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