What can I say?   I declare the Thanksgiving Holiday officially over.   That’s right.   Over, over, over.   Going, going, gone.   No more leftover suspicious-looking ham.   No more tasty morsels of Peep food anywhere to be found.   As a matter of fact, no more Peeps except Slow.   Auntie Am left this morning to fly back to South Carolina.   Pretty and Smiley Boy and Annie and Chelsea are already there.   They left the day after Thanksgiving and drove nonstop for 16+ hours to set a record for our drives to and fro.   So, guess who’s left in Texas?   If you guessed Smokey Lonesome Double Colored Eyed Ollie and moi, you would be correct.   Let the good times roll.   I mean, that guy is as dull as dirt.   No imagination whatsoever, but I will give him two thumbs up for the spark he showed with the ham trick on Thanksgiving.   Maybe he’s not totally hopeless.

Slow is, of course, morose without Pretty.   Sigh.   I try so hard to lift her spirits when Pretty leaves, but it’s a tall order.   I’ve had some help this time, though, thank goodness.   The old woman is a football nut, and I’ve had to endure her tantrums through the years with Spring Valley Vikings, South Carolina Gamecocks, Texas Longhorns and Carolina Panthers.   Dear God, who thinks up these names??  Now, give me a name like the Orange Men of Syracuse.  Why not the Red Men, I ask you??

  I dread football season, let me tell you.   No more Law and Order SVU at this house unless we see it on one of the FEW days with no football games.   College football, pro football, football football.   Unfortunately, Slow tends to support LOSERS in her teams of choice and typically directs most of her game talk to fantasies for next year.   She jumps up and down (which isn’t easy for her) and says horrible words while she watches endless games on tv.   Honestly, I’m the only dog that stays with her during these tirades.   The other ones slink off to hide or stay with Pretty who shares Slow’s football passion for some unknown reason but gets mad and writes on Facebook.

This year, however, the Lamecocks have become the Remarkable Gamecocks and have  shown an unbelievable turnaround.  Slow is thrilled that this year IS next year, and they are playing in some kind of Championship Game  Saturday.    She is entertained royally with fantasies involving Bowl Games and intricate scenarios of who will play who in what game whenever.   I say let her have her fun with at least ONE team that has risen to the occasion with fewer disappointments than usual.   Go, COCKS.   Seriously.   COCKS.   Rah, rah, COCKS.   We love our COCKS.   Please.   It’s too much for moi.   I am horrified for her, but she goes blissfully on and I bite my barks since she’s so occupied with her optimism.

Finally, I have to say that Slow appears to be equally smitten with her excitement about the birth of her first grandchild.   No, no, no.   All of us have been fixed so there’s no way it’s a Pup.   It’s a New Peep, and she and Pretty are keeping the phones hot today.   Pretty sent the old girl a picture of the New Peep tonight, and I heard her tell Pretty it’s the most beautiful Baby Boy she’s ever seen.   Geez Louise.   Will you give me a break?   I sincerely hope that this New Peep doesn’t take any attention away from you-know-who, if you will.   Not that I’m the jealous type.   Certainly not, but I have to be sure it’s still all about the Red Man.

Good night, sweet dreams, may the best team win and may the New Peep be a baseball player.