Sometimes Pooka curls up on the couch and buries her face behind her back knee/elbow/whatever. I take it as a sign that the lights are too bright, the TV is too loud and would you PLEASE just leave me alone. She cracks me up.
All's well in our little house, which doesn't make for very exciting blog fodder, but I'm not complaining (and neither should Pooka's grandparents). She's become an avid sentry in the back yard, protecting our turf from invaders of the crow and squirrel persuasion. Sometimes she and the neighbor's dog just stand and stare at each other through a small bit of open fence. The only back yard hitch of late has been her impulse to eat/smear unidentified poo on her face less than an hour after a bath. Pooka. Seriously. Disgusting.
It's winter, so if you're thinking of us, imagine her in a pink and yellow reflective vest and me in full-body raingear, tromping through the neighborhood.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
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