In Honor of the Patron Saint of the Emerald Isle

Kirsten learned today that in a pinch one can eat Irish food with chopsticks. Such a pinch may be (but is not limited to) when one is eating bangers and mash in the teachers' lounge, has forgetten to pack a fork, does not want to enter the student infested school cafeteria to get a spork, and spys an unused pack of chopsticks in a little frequented corner. If the proof is in the pudding this approch works just fine. I still say God gave you a mouth and why complicate matters, but people will be people, and our common ground is more important that our differences. We both like Irish food.

Fern

I told you we'd make it look better. You're jealous, aren't you? See how soft it is? I'm going to bring it with on my spring break trip to the mountains in Tennessee so I can show it off to my friends there. Just call me lucky.

Fern

I Approve

Kirsten is making me a bed out of things she found at a thrift store. She says thrift stores are where they sell you things that used to be in other people's houses. This is how I feel about the plan:



Fern

On Finding the Best Things

I've had the opportunity to go shopping in some Stores lately. It seems to me that Stores are a very important part of human experience, and I've decided to give them some thought. This is what I've mulled over so far. What stricks me particularly on entering a Store is the number of aisles devoted to chew toys. Now any given chewy might be squeaky, soft, little, edible, tough, smelly, large, colorful (so says Kirsten, who is better at seeing color than me), bouncy, what-have-you, or any combination thereof. This makes me wonder how people ascertain what qualifies as a good chew. Perhaps one uses preferences based on the before mentioned list to decide--I can see that leading in some general directions--but I find myself at a loss to make any reasonable choice with only this information. You see my difficulty of course because they're all on a rack in a Store. It's really impossible to tell which one is best in that situation. If you aren't following me I'll explain: They lack a good solid Place. What is Place? Place, my friend, is the key to finding the best chews. For example, the toys in my house have Place, and I know exactly which ones to find and horde--namely, the cat's toys. There are some dog toys about which are nice enough, but since there are no other dogs around one can't compare them to the cat's toys. The important thing about Place is that something could be someone else's and therefore could be made yours instead. Of course the more Someone Elses there are in a Placeg the better a thing can be. When I went to visit my old home on Saturday I found a bone in the grass. Since all my friends were out--adding up to some dozen possible contestants for bone ownership--there could hardly be a better thing to have for oneself. You can imagine my joy in carrying it around. Actually, you don't even need to imagine because I've included a picture for you. I do hope these thoughts will help guide you the next time you rush off to look at things in Stores. Remember, Place is the thing. Best of luck at finding the good stuff!

Fern

A day full of Important Things

Today Kirsten told me we were going to visit some puppies and, true to her word, that is what we did. The pictures! I hear you say, what about the pictures of the puppies! Of course you, like Kirsten, have missed the point. It's not about the puppies. They're all fine and good when they're wagging their little tails from their little pen. For a while they're even all right when they're chasing you around the duck pool. But tail-biting? Even you tail deprived beings must understand that is going to far. And the way the come and look at the bone you have just victoriously captured for yourself--that look full of innocent nievety as if they just didn't know that bone was off limits. Still I hear you clamoring for pictures regardless of your increased knowledge of what pesky little brutes they are. I will supply some pictures in good time. But onto more important things: myself. Today I got to go visit my old home and my old chums. I achieved many good scampers and even runs in the goat field. One ought to be quite impressed by this. I'd bet several good chewies on your not being able to do such a thing just a few months out from major hip surgery. That is why I am more important than puppies, you see. I will be reinforcing the puppy pictures I provide with pictures of my accomplishments. Durning one of my scampers I came upon a ferocious beast of a bone lurking amid the grass. Not only did I slay it and keep it from the other dogs, but I also carried it single mouthedly back to a nice shady patch of grass. My day was full of vital, helpful activities similar to this. At present I feel that such a member of the canine world deserves her rest. The promised pictures will be posted as I see fit, and first things will come first: