No Dog Blogging Today

I begged and pleaded, but Henrietta turned on her other side and just continued snoring. Hank raised one eyelid and said:"You've gone stark crazy, goddess. It's raining and all good Americans take naps. Now go away."

So you're stuck with me. Henrietta's tumor turned out benign so our neighbors will have many more years of wild barking to listen to. Plus seeing me dance in the street with wild happiness and a certain divine charm after hearing the good news.

It's shedding season here at the Snakepit Inc., not for the snakes, but for the dogs. Newly laundered sheets are covered with dog hair when they emerge from the dryer, and so is the mail before it has even entered the house. The place probably looks like the center of a duststorm from some distance. I'm used to this phenomenom by now, but like every year, I think about ways to turn all this hair to some good purpose. There must be something I could knit out of all the furry balls in the corners and under the stairs and in my mouth. Maybe little anti-Bush sweaters for all your dogs and cats? Would there be a market for them? I could embroider horrible George faces on them and also slogans that appeal to my dog market:"One Bush not even worth pissing on."

Dogs are lovely, though. Hank just woke up and came over to check what I'm doing, gulping down some water en route. Now that water is dribbling down my legs. This keeps me in touch with nature and the feelings of the physical world: cold, pain and dirt, mainly.

Dogs are also excellent kissers or lickers, with the exception of Henrietta who will not kiss anyone as she's the boss of the house. Hank's tongue is big enough to cover the American continent, and when she loves someone successfully, that person doesn't need to take a shower for some time. I recommend pets for everybody, especially goddesses who need to be taken down a peg or two.