I, Persephone, have the honor of writing today with my ongoing observations of the general foolishness of males in general and male canines in particular.
This afternoon, I was roused from my slumber by much noise and cacophony outside. I glanced through the window.
There he was, the apotheosis of alpha-malehood, the quintessence of quirky pride.
Wendy the Woodpecker, my new avian accomplice, looked on in quiet bewilderment.
Poor besotted Buster had had the misfortune of watching the American League playoffs the other night. Convinced that the Redsox could not be allowed to fall to the Devil Rays, he had decided to offer his services as shortstop during tonight's game.
It even occurred to him to practice. Hence, the pandemonium beneath the maples.
I suppose, in a bizarre way, he had his priorities right. When the central challenge of the game is, in fact, finding the ball, I must admit that Buster's persistence is admirable.
When he finally lost the ball to either the leaves or a wormhole to another universe, he collected his clueless countenance and posed for his baseball card photo.
I think he's kind of cute.