An unbiased account of the creatures and characters of Western New York, plus my usual ramblings.
The love dog.
Love the dog.
I know. It's always all about him. I guess he's a substitute grand child. Really, though, he's too fat. His treat time needs to be seriously reduced, because he's gotten so bossy/beggish that he drives us nuts at night. Plus, the 'Beggin Strips' give him the most gosh awful bouts of gas. And he's ALWAYS sitting by me!
What's in that big box by the turtles, and who got it?
Golf clubs for W. They've been putting in the basement.