(And no, I don't have a picture.)
Did you know that I can sort of track you? Well, I'm not good at it by any stretch of the imagination, but I do have the means to see how people find their way to my blog from a rudimentary standpoint.
For instance, if you google "How to clean glass shower doors," apparently my blog comes up in the search. And I can see that you came here from Google to also be a witness to my gleaming shower doors.
I also know if you are here from Sacramento versus Hillsboro.
I'm not trying to freak you out. I just think it's cool to see how you got here.
So now I'm going to see who's searching for seared canine appendages. Cuz my dog has one. The same one who fled the scene on Highway 141 in the middle of rush hour. The same one who leaps ONTO the TV stand when he (I mean the kids) are watching SnowBuddies. The same one I've tried to give away. More than once. To no avail.
That dog.
The other day, this sweet li'l warm spot by the fire just became too tempting. He climbed onto the tile hearth. Followed his tail in a series of circles as he tried his paws at nesting ceramic. And right at that last moment, as he bent his knees to fold up his athletic golden retriever body on the warmth of the tile, just then, a wee bit of tail fur pushed through the metal screen. And sat itself upon an ember. Also just as I was saying to him from my comfy spot in the leather chair, "You crazy dog. You're gonna light your tail on fire." I kept my eye on him. And it's a good thing I did.
Luke stood up. His tail thrust through the screen. He turned his head toward his glowing backside. And leapt off the hearth.
In the time it took me to think, "All I need is that * dog catching my house on fire!" I grabbed his tail as he slid past me and shook it fiercely between my hands. Little fragmented bits of burned dog hair fell around me. The stench was horrific.
I took a look at his tail to assure myself that it was out. And Luke was not hurt.
I stomped on the ashes that lay on the floor to assure myself that they were not burning. And my house had not been set afire.
I lit a candle on the mantle to mask the smell.
And I opened the patio door to let that poor dog go cool off outside.
