We’ve had a run of gray, wet days. For Garry and I, that means we take a lot of medication that’s supposed to tell our arthritic bodies to shut up and stop complaining. Mostly, it doesn’t work very well, so these are slow-moving days.
We are listening to an audiobook by day, and deeply absorbed in the heart of post-Victorian British crime stories as the evening draws on. The dogs? They beg for whatever they think they have a chance of scoring … which is anything and everything that might be construed as edible … and sleeping. They are very good at both.