My New Fur Friends

Happy Monday. 

(Too cheerful for this early in the week?)

Well, I spend time last week doing some sad-funny remembering and some venting so let's get back to what I meant to talk about before - my trip to visit my good buddy Maria Zannini.

If you follow Maria's blog (and if you don't, you really should), you know she lives on a homestead in Texas. I'm a suburbs girl myself so if was a bit unusual being woke up at oh-dark-thirty every morning by this guy.  

But I was probably more distracted by this little girl.

Her name is Nana, which I found very unsettling since at home my name is Nana.

It was fun watching little Nana staking out her territory in a home shared with Tank and Iko (a couple really big rottweilers) and an older golden lab named Maggie.

 

Don't you love the long-suffering look in in Tank's eyes.

 

 

 Maggie just tried to pretend she wasn't there.

But the best was watching giant Iko and tiny Nana playing tug of war.

(give it a second - it loads slow, but it's a short one)

 

Gotta love Nana's tenacity. 

 

Yeah, I know I should be talking about the work we got done, of the very cool conference we attended or my brand new friend Angela Brown who joined us for the weekend but Maria's fur babies were just more fun.  More on those other things next time.

Joke of the Day: This was a short post so I think you can handle a longer joke. 

A young monk arrives at the monastery. He is assigned to help the other monks copy the old canons and laws of the church by hand.

He notices, however, that all of the monks are copying from copies, not from the original manuscripts. So, the new monk goes to the head abbot to question this, pointing out that if someone made even a small error in the first copy, it would never be picked up! In fact, that error would be continued in all of the subsequent copies.

The head monk, says, 'We have been copying from the copies for centuries, but you make a good point, my son.'

The old man goes down into the dark caves underneath the monastery where the original manuscripts are held as archives in a locked vault that hasn't been opened for hundreds of years. Hours go by but he doesn't return.

The young monk gets worried and goes down to look for him and finds the abbot banging his head against the wall and wailing. "We missed the R! We missed the R! We missed the %#@ R !" His forehead is all bruised and he is crying uncontrollably. 

The young monk asks, "Father, what's wrong?"

 With a choking voice, the old abbot replies, "The word was...CELEBRATE."