Winnipeg, my Great Dane puppy, was outside yesterday running in the yard while I stood there growing more and more impatient with her. Puppies don't seem to understand that taking care of business isn't supposed to be a major activity. I think this dog needs to be on Ritalin because she apparently heard an ant drop a bread crumb in the neighbor's yard and stopped to debate if she needed to run over and offer her assistance. In the middle of said pondering, Winnie glanced over at me, slowly turned her head around as close as possible to her rear end, and started sniffing. She looked back over at me with that look...that "did you get a whiff of what just came out of there?" look. I assured her that I did not and was very happy that I did not because the look in that dog's eyes told me all I needed to know. Dog farts are most certainly dangerous forces that should be unleashed only on drivers who cut in line and people who don't flush public toilets.
It's a beautiful Saturday afternoon here in southwest Florida, although still a bit too warm for my November tastes. I'm learning to enjoy my weekends with as much unstructured and unscheduled time as possible. Last Saturday was a delightful unstructured day. A new friend of mine (the one from the Everglades excursion) and I went to a local carnival. Now, here's the thing...I LOVE carnivals. The food. The people. The rides. The lights. I can easily spend an entire day wandering through the crowds. He's no carnival slouch. The first thing we did was walk through the entire place, scoping out the rides. Then the fun began. We rode almost every ride there (except for the kiddie attractions and the broken Tornado). The Wild Claw. The Scrambler. The Orbiter. The Space Oddysey. The Swings. The Pharaoh's Fury. The Ferris Wheel. The Giant Slide. The Haunted House. The Avalanche. It was all good. How can you top a ride that uses centrifugal force to plaster your body against...
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