It just crossed my mind.

My stepson has asked me about how to blog. So this is what we're doing.

I'm horrified. The freezer in the storage room went out, and behind it is a skeletonized cat corpse.

Poor baby must have found a warm place to die. It happened during the past eight years. The only mewling I've heard is from these pampered boys.

So, Lyman looked up the recipes and I baked a Devil's food cake with fudge icing, I went to the raised bed and picked six perfect coral tulips, and celebrated my mother-in-law's 92nd birthday. 

I shall have to delete the photo of the nutria in the last post. Nenad Druzic (Neno) sold the photo.

Pierre C. Shadeaux did not see his shadow this morning. South Louisiana will have a long spring.

Had he seen it, summer would come early and hot.

I met Chet the dog yesterday. He's the narrator of Spencer Quinn's The Dog Who Knew Too Much.

Chet's a K-9 reject with an excellent nose and perfect loyalty to Bernie Little. Together they are the Little Detective Agency. Here they find themselves searching for a lost boy, which leads them into all sorts of trouble with crooked lawmen and meth camps.

Chet's a charmer with keen storytelling ability, with the occasional lapse of attention when, say, there's bacon nearby, or a swimming hole.

The book was fun. Probably even better for dog lovers.

And here is Peter Abrahams' website, creator of Spencer Quinn and Chet.