Sorry for the delay but we’ve been playing with the wee beasties tonight. Beckham seems to be coming out of his post-Satchmo funk and is starting to play with Fenway again although "play" may not be the correct word considering the blood I had to clean up last night. It’s all fun and games until someone gets their lip bit. And, getting back to that "wee beasties" thing, I weighed Fenway tonight and he’s up to 44 pounds and he’s not even nine months yet. We’re thinking that he’s going to hit 90, or as the erudite and ever perceptive mrs tbogg puts it, "Jesus. He’s a friggin’ monster."
Buncha stuff tonight; both of the boys at the top of the stairs, a picture of Fenway that is just too hard to explain, and a shot of Satchmo for mrs tbogg who was missing him tonight with all of the rambunctiousness going on. It still feels like there is a big hole in the house that can’t be filled. For the longest time we only had two bassets and that felt just right. Now, not having three seems incomplete. I predict another an addition when the L&T one comes home from school next summer.
Consider yourself warned.