Scout puked in her grandmother's van, yesterday, in Florida, down by the beach, on Spring break, after eating shrimp that weren't fully cooked. Ah, the joys of Yahoo Instant Messenger; I learn things about my children, or at least this child, that would have escaped me otherwise.
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I just learned that my older dog, who will eat anything, will also eat peanut shells, which is rather convenient, don't you think, when I am eating peanuts? I can just throw the shells to the dog after I have gotten the yummy peanuts out from inside the nasty shell. The younger dog won't eat peanut shells and he won't eat peanuts that are still inside the shell, but he will eat the peanuts, themselves, once you have gone to the trouble of taking them out of the shell for him.
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I'm in the country, still. My still lingering, and not too subtley waiting to rise from not being fully dead, bad attitude and my perceptions of what her mother may be up to regarding me, haven't run me off of love's property yet. I almost split, but this lawnwork thing has somehow become addicting. It gives me kind of an artistic high to look back and see what I have done, how I have improved the property by raking, digging, cutting, planting and pulling. Did you hear that honey? I have improved the property. Smile.

The folks back home have nicknamed me "Lawnboy," in their emails, so I am "Lawnboy K," for the week.

Morisson, (the younger dog), woke me in the middle of the night. I swear that I heard voices coming from the kitchen, when he woke me up, but it turned out that it was thundering and lightening like a motherfucker outside. No wonder the dog was trembling and begging for me to wake and comfort him.

After I inspected the storm, I let the dog crawl into the bed with me. He was right; the storm was vicious. I would probably need the dog's comfort as much as he needed mine to get through this one.

A dog in my bed, or hers, these days, is an absolute no no. When I had the old mattress, thrown on the floor, that was already covered in holes, and dirt, my dog was welcome to lay down with me. That mattress is long gone and so, too, is my dog's permission to crash with me; except in this rare, rare exception. I mean the poor dog was up on his hind legs, digging his nose into my underarm to wake me last night. Poor thing. He doesn't much care for storms in the city, either.

NEXT IN THE DAILY K: Lawnboy K picks up more sticks than any man ever seen; and what has Graem Kinsella been up to in Florida on his spring break. The Daily K tries to get the normaly shut mouthed kid to talk.