It's Our Secret

I wouldn't want it to get out because it would embarrass her, but just between us, Bessie Anne has developed a gas leak.  It's not so noticeable in the house because she usually sleeps on one of the couches on the other side of the room, but out on the porch she lies down close to my feet.  Periodically, she gives a quiet little toot in her sleep and I get a whiff of "aroma."  Hey, it happens.  It's just that she's never had this problem before.

Gillie, a Welsh corgi from another lifetime, now that was a girl with major gas.  Gillie could cut loose with a green cloud (that's an exaggeration) that could make your eyes water (that's not).  Boys, my boys at least, thought passing gas was the funniest thing ever and Gillie would keep them in gales of laughter.  She was also a convenient  patsy to blame if one of them had a problem of his own.

Guilt is a harsh mistress.  Having been caught with my dust down, yesterday I not only dusted, I polished furniture.  Wouldn't you know that not one soul stopped by to sit and admire the gleaming wood with me?

The sun sank last evening behind a bank of smoke across the valley.  There are a number of fires burning in California, the largest being in the heavily inhabited Santa Rosa area where a number of my family members live.  It was frightening to learn that they were evacuated, and worse to find out that one family lost everything and the house they'd lived in for forty years.  Thankfully, they are safe and together.  Hold the good thought for all.