I’m bored. Really bored. I’m doggysitting. Happy and I are waiting for her mommy and daddy – my folks – to get back from their weekend expedition to Monterey and the amazing aquarium therein. I should go read a book. I have some with me. Steven King, John Banville, and a couple of issues of Poetry.

 

I smell like fish. Which sucks in a sickly ironic way, since I didn’t go to the aquarium and the amusing penguin exhibit therein. Which is fine, I don’t mind hanging with Happy, but it just sucks. Happy gets a little fish oil on her food in the evening, for her heart, and I got it on my hands. Also on my shirt, which is presently in the washing machine. Going round and round like the wheels on Mom’s car, conveying them home through Gilroy, and the garlic festival therein.

 

I like garlic. I’ve had complaints. Do people get in your face, so to speak, about things like that? I carry a little box of breath mints now. Well, technically they’re not mints I guess; they’re orange.

 

Oh hold the phone!  We can see the penguins on the internet! How cool is that? Now I just need to rest my chin on my hands, take a deep breath, and it’s just like being there.

 

As Happy says, smell ya later.