The Musty Remains

Two days ago, the Ides of March tackled me face-first into the red clay dirt of Alabama.

Then, those devious Ides threw me in a sack of rocks and tried to fling me into the nearest swollen creek.

Somehow, I squiggled out before wet met sack and survived. Mind relatively intact, heart still whole.

The short of the story is this…

My 17-year old, four-legged and furry muse had a TERRIBLE night on the 14th, leading to TERRIBLE decisions having to be considered.

Miraculously, a swift recovery for dog arrived with the dawn. Unfortunately, the nut-in-charge’s recovery was not nearly so speedy.

Hence, blog silence for two days.

Apologies for that… and for the next days of quiet as I head down to Tampa Bay to meet my potcake puppy.

Blessings certainly abound this beautiful Sunday, but the old brain is still smelling the musty scent of  rock-filled sack.

Until Wednesday…


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