Holy Cow!

Why is it, I wonder, that only bovines get so blessed?  Nobody says, "Holy skunk," or "Holy cat."  (It doesn't pay to let the mind wander early in the morning.)

The Swedes have nothing on me.  I've got a sauna right here in Fair Play.  I call it the barn.  It's a dry sauna; the only thing wet in there is me.  Holy cow, it's hot down there!  I think about getting a wall thermometer to see how much hotter it is under that low metal roof in direct sunlight, but then, it might be better not to know.

The radiology staff work like a well-oiled machine.  The whole procedure is down to a science, including an automatic check-in system using a bar-code card.  Just enough time to slip into one of those fashionable half-gowns before a voice in the wall tells me to, "Come on back."  Two techs are waiting with my custom-fitted mold on the table where I am to lie.  Barely enough time for pleasantries and a couple of measurements before they duck out of the room, the machine starts its thing, and zut! it's over.  Holy cow, they're fast!  I kid you not, from walk in to walk out took fifteen minutes yesterday.

Cam and Honey came by just after I got home.  Cam and I sat in the living room where the ceiling fan at least stirred the air.  There wasn't a puff of breeze out on the deck where we usually go.  She and I sat like limp dishrags, but the dogs were suddenly energized.  They raced back and forth playing tag.  Honey grabbed a squeaky toy out of the basket and tossed it in the air.  "Weekie, weekie, weekie!"  We finally threw both girls outside to roughhouse.  Holy cow, where did that come from?

Looks like today is going to be more of the same.