However, I forgot to tell you that I also have a couple of house guests; both brought along their dogs. As you know, I have (um, several) dogs. My sister brought her dogs over, too; our guest from Canada brought his Old English Sheepdog; and the Tile Circus boys brought along a boxer named Pretty Boy Floyd.
Some of these dogs loved each other at first sight; some of these dogs loved each other too much; some of these dogs just didn't get along. Some are housebroken; some are striving to be so. Some are youthful and bouncy and chewy; some are elderly and unable to negotiate slippery floors. The answer to all these many potential combinations is, naturally, a series of baby gates strewn throughout the last useable bits of the house.
Now, I would like you to picture moving from one room to another in our now-abbreviated house. There is a freezer in the dining room, for reasons we have never been able to reveal. There are computers on the kitchen counters. There are baby gates in every doorway, propped up by anything found nearby.
Oh, no, now there is a sheepdog splayed out like Bambi on the kitchen floor because somebody left a baby gate ajar! He's fallen and he can't get up!
We haven't seen the sofa for days. There are dog dishes everywhere. The shower is now somewhere outside, I think. The TV is in the bedroom, where no TV has gone before. There is an Auntie in my bed who tells me that I snore. I've lost my deodorant, and I really, really need it.
|OE sheepdog, resting on the porch after a nimble portrayal of Bambi|
The good news is that the Mañana Tiler Hombres have cheerfully made some progress today, in their relaxed and poco tiempo way. We now have some drying cement for the cats to get into, and some trim tiles which look gorgeous, by the way, set around the hearth of the big kiva.
Will it all be done in time for the party coming up on Saturday night (surprise, Beez!)? Stay tuned.