This is another test. Ignore me.
Oooooh.
Valhalla: Viking heaven and kitteh hell.
He does a little Stevie Wonder imitation at the end.
Whoa. Forgot about the Pet Blogger Hop. Egads. My mind is in a bucket.
- Link up your pet blog name and URL using the Linky Tool below. You only need to add your link once to be seen on all the Saturday Pet Blogger Blog Hop Linky Tools for that week. Note that if your blog is not pet related your link will be removed. Also note that only one post per blog is acceptable, and links promoting giveaways that are unrelated to the pet blogger hop will be removed. This is a community building exercise and not a promotional vehicle – please treat it as such.
- Grab the “Saturday Pet Blogger Blog Hop” button on the right hand side of this site and include it in your Saturday Blog hop post so that your readers will know what is going on. *Note – posting is optional. Feel free to just link and follow.
- Follow your co-hosts listed in the first 3 slots of the Linky Tool.
- Follow as many other blogs on the linky as you’d like.
- Take a moment to comment on the blogs telling them you’re from the blog hop.
- Follow back when you get a new follower through the Saturday Pet Blogger Hop.
- Make friends and grow. ♥
Cuddle Hymn of My Greyhound Republic
Mine eyes look on the cuteness of the puppy I call Fabes.
He may only have three legs but he’s a magnet for the babes.
His willy is pathetic; he has no chance of getting laid,
but hope keeps hopping on.
Faby Baby, he’s my puppy.
Squirmy like a hyper guppy.
Faby Baby, he’s my puppy.
Our love keeps hopping on.
I have seen my lovely Omo nestled in his bed at night.
He is old, and he is achy, but the love in him burns bright.
I like to hide his ears to make a ghost that likes a fright
and put pretty pink stuff on.
Homey Omo, he’s my old man
A life of cuddles, that is his plan.
Homey Omo, he’s my old man.
Our love keeps snuggling on
Resting up for the big read
We are rested from influenza, bronchitis, and several booked weekends. It’s time. It’s time to face the unread blog posts.
Sent from my iPhone, toots.
Baby, it’s cold inside
It got down to 1 degree Celsius (~34F) last night. We don’t have heat. There are only a few nights like this. We choose to bundle up and wear ugly shoes.
Sent from my iPhone, toots.
Who needs two legs up front anyway?
We’ve given up on keeping Fabian off The Red Womb of Nappage. Last night we saw these two snuggle. It’s the first time we’ve seen their love be … consummated?
Usually Peppa weaves between Fabian’s legs and Fabian hops around following Peppa. Now they snuggle.
Now I click away.
Another front leg would just get in the way.
Aw, but where’s his leg pillow?
Sent from my iPhone, toots.
Holidays
The bald kids are here–we call them stepchildren when we're among polite society–so I'm taking the time off to hang with them. They sleep in late. Until they wake up, I hang with the fuzzy musclebums.
If you hold the camera or webcam up like this, you lose your middle-age chicken neck. My kind of plastic surgery.
Cooties prefer the weekends
Everyone was hacking up a lung at work all week, but I was healthy Monday through Friday. No legit sick days for me. Heavens no. My cooties attack on the weekends. It might be due to the fella I keep on my computer screen. He's my trusty white blood cell Organ Donor. By the way, his backside is exposed, which gives many who walk on the other side a giggle.
This weekend the Manboy's in Warwick for the Warwick Pentath, a marathon cut into five races: half marathon, 4.6 km cross-country course, 5 km road race, 10 km ascent (to then up a large hill), and a 1.5 km sprint down the middle of town and back. I've been twice, but never to run all five. My favourite is the cross-country course, but no one else likes it. They run through a horse jump circuit (not the kind in a ring) and have to jump hay bales and other obstacles that horses jump. Great fun when you're knackered.
Bless their hearts, they got the dates wrong, on their masthead, but those who go, know. It's the weekend. That's all that matters. Manboy is just above the R in "Results"; he's wearing a blue shirt and yellow shorts. What you don't see is that those shorts have chillis on them.
What he doesn't see (yet) is that I embroidered little things on his undies where his tooter would be.
I'm alone for the weekend with great plans to do SFA (rhymes with "wheat truck haul"), but all I get are throat cooties. Suspiscious on Saturday, but convinced on Sunday. After I post this, I'll be on FaceTime with my mom, flashlight by my side. She's a retired pulmonologist, but if I tell her I'm sick, she demands to see the throat. Seriously. I used to take photos and send them to her. At least FaceTime spares me the "The light was bad. Do it again" emails back and forth.
At least I'm having a love fest:
I go from the chair where the cat is to the "womb" behind Omo. That way I get my exercise between naps. Omo is pleased to have me near, but Fabian is needier.
It's hard to nap when ears need scritchin'.
Signing off from the fusty love fest:
But I do need rest, so it is time to take advantage of the boys' temporarly absence–sunning on the deck–for another nap.
