Well, well, well.   Today is the last day of November, and I feel the need to explain the Peeps and Pups that I talk about all the time.   Clearly, some confusion exists in my cyberspace readership with the messages that I send and, since I have the best of intentions for keeping everything above board, I will digress from my usual bullseye reporting of events to describe our characters.

As a parting shot to Thanksgiving, I need to say that I am grateful to all of you who tolerate my rants and raves on a regular basis.   I began this experiment at the end of September as a way to let off some steam that had been building up for a long time.   You know what I mean.   Steam, steam, steam.   If it builds up long enough, it might EXPLODE!   And, that’s what happened with me when I figured out how to talk.   Luckily, many of you respond well to explosions, and the last two months I’ve had over 1,750 hits to my Dog Dramas.   I’m barking, jumping and twirling out of control because that seems like a lot to me, although I have no barometer or thermometer or any other kind of mometer to use for comparisons.  

At any rate, I need to tell you that the New Peep is a Pretend Grandbaby for Pretty and Slow.   Several readers have called Pretty and Slow today to question them about the New Peep.   They thought it might be Pretty’s son’s baby, but that is not the case.   Forgive moi for this little misunderstanding.   The New Peep belongs to the Guy Whose Nuts I routinely jump against when I see him and the Exotic European who is his wife.   Slow and Pretty adopted them in Columbia several years ago, and they have produced a New Peep that will be the object of much affection in our community there.   Oh, come, let us adore him, etc.   ‘Tis the season to be jolly, after all, and they are rejoicing in unison for this addition to the extended family.

Also, as to Smiley Boy who rescued me from the jaws of death and the horns of the Big Black Bull, I will identify him as a twenty-two-year-old Friend of Slow and Pretty, or to abbreviate like a particular previous President, FOSP.   He is the younger brother of our Hispanic Nanny in Columbia and will  forever be remembered as the Boy who saved the Red Man from himself.   Heh, heh.  I still have dreams of that bull.   Today Slow walked me and Ollie on the Country Route, and wouldn’t you just know that there are  C-O-W-S in our favorite pasture??!!   I swear, they are EVERYWHERE – you can’t escape them!   The Ansel Adams of cell phone photography, better known to all of you as Slow, took this picture of them lolling around today on our walk.   Honestly, I tried desperately to crawl under that fence and have a good run at them like I did when I was at the cemetery, but Slow had a firm grip on my leash, and Ollie looked appalled at the idea.   Not that I care how Ollie looks, by the way.

Slow is so old she’ll qualify for Medicare in April, and she is forever moaning about some ache or pain or being too tired or not feeling 100% or some bullshit like that.   She doesn’t have a job any more, but I remember when she did.   She worked every day, and I didn’t see that much of her.   Now, I see TOO much of her.   Frankly, the old girl can be a heavy load for the Red Man.   There is such a thing as too much togetherness, if you catch my drift.

Pretty, on the other hand, is a Girl on the Go.   Yessiree.   No grass grows under her feet!   She’s got many irons in the fire and they all pop and crackle at once!    She plays tennis year round and frequently.   She works, reads, shops and tries to take care of Slow when the old girl is more than I can handle by myself.   Pretty keeps us all on our toes.

Let’s hope this clears up any foggy false impressions.   If not, I can’t help you.   Try to settle in and enjoy the Red Man’s ride.