Belle The Wolf and Henry are playing with Bella, who was found in 2013, broken-backed, in a flooded ditch. Her spinal cord wasn't severed, but the spine itself was shattered. She can get to her feet, and take a few steps. But she usually just scoots around, and is a terror to the big dogs.
So the elections are over. I didn't pay it much mind, taking the view (watch the very short clip) of Crocodile Dundee.
It's just that no more campaign mailers means that I have to find something else for the bottom of the parrot's cage.
Well, if we had a parrot.
Politicians come and go,
bless their little cotton socks,
and when speaking often show
they're dumber than a box of rocks,
saying this, misspeaking that,
then onward to a photo op,
holding babies and a cat
that you can see they'd love to drop,
but they do make me really glad
that we have committee rule,
for it would be quite clearly mad
if we'd bow to a public fool
with vision of newborn retriever
and saw in him a True Believer.
Still, there are good public men and women. It's just that they seem to die young.
The Five Minute Friday prompt this week is EXTREME. This might not be extremely hard.
People yell from left and right,
words of quandary and riddle,
never thinking that they might
just meet in the middle,
and share a coffee or a beer
(heck, pass around a joint!),
'cause it's getting really clear
that we're close to the point
where agenda and ideas
come to matter more than life,
and Hell's on a massive bender
in celebration of the strife
that pushed us to a dark extreme
on each side, beyond obscene.
Four minutes thirty, including a hesitant keypad. Good enough.
Music from Dion, with Abraham, Martin, and John.
Sylvia votes for ice cream.