Friday night I went to sleep, confident in the certainty that certain things--like the landscape--generally stay the same. I don't know why this makes me feel good, but I'm a dog. A creature of habit.
Saturday morning, THIS is what I found:
Nothing was the same. I may as well have awakened on a remote asteroid!
When I decided that I had to conduct my morning ritual, I couldn't even get through the door. What is a diminutive, four-footed creature such as myself to do?
Groceries? Dog food? Forget it! Nobody was going ANYWHERE!
I found myself in a sort of (Kerry) blue funk. This was getting old very quickly!
Buster--never one to leave his feelings unknown--began to howl and bay at the moon. Well, there wasn't a moon. But if there had been, he would have bayed at it.
I thought I would walk over to the gate and look around. Gate?
Winter is not to my liking. My agent shall hear about this.