Dear Mom

Dear Mom:

We're excited that you chose to run off to the cooling waters of The Pond in boreal New Hampshire with that little parvenu, the insufferably cute little diva, Gracie. 

Don't worry about us.  No, we're doing just fine, holding down the fort at home, watching the temperature climb to levels previously measured on the surface of the sun.

Yes, we're okay.

We thought we'd send you a brief report of our activities.

Buster agreed to do the blog entry.  He loves keyboarding almost as much as he enjoys stealing Gracie's toys.

More about that later...

I've been guarding your home against a pestilence--an invasion--of EVIL WABBITS.

You must understand that this is a duty that I take more seriously than most terriers.

One particular EVIL WABBIT sought to undermine the very foundations of your house by burrowing beneath it.  Suffice it to say, I followed him.

This really does represent some of my better work, don't you think?

In the meantime, Buster has been playing nonstop BusterBall all through the evenings with a singular intensity one sees in droid-besotted humans playing Angry Birds in an airport.

And yes!  The hare-brained, testosterone-addled boy-child, incapable of catching a weal wabbit, has purloined Gracie's!  Nah, nah nah nah nah!

Then there's the little matter of the heat...  while certain annointed Chosen Ones were cooling their posteriors in the cool mountain airs of the Granite State, we have been guarding the gates of Hades down here in Connecticut with a resolve worthy of Cerberus, the Arch-Kerry Himself.  Observe Dad's car thermometer as it registers the outside ambient temperature at 5:30 p.m.  

We just wanted to let you know that you shouldn't be concerned about us.  All is fine.

Give our best wishes to the little brown-nosing Miss Cutesy.  We're taking good care of things (Did I mention the new septic tank?).

Love to all,

Bailey