That title up there? Sounds like a newpaper headline or sumfin. It's not. But it is sumfin where all the wurds start with the same sound. Al-it-ur-ration is whut that's called. I no this on account o' because I wuz 'round here when my skin bro an sis lived here like a day or year ago. They wuz always messin with the wurds. Rhymes an stuff.
It wuz like livin in a Dr. Seuss book or sumfin.
So I guess that kinda rubbed off on me an my doggy bloggy thingy.
Anywho, all that to tell yu 'bout las nite.
Lemme tell yu bout it.
It wuz a nice day yesserday so I tol' Mommy she better get out there an trim an mow the yard while it wuz nice. So she did jus that. An now she is glad she did jus that cuz las night we had us a big ol' storm. It started gettin cloudy an dark. Thunder wuz happenin off ofur there. Mommy got the chickies an garage cats tucked in. Jus in time cuz it started rainin bout then.
We came in. Tux got nervus. He got real Velcro with Mommy. He wuz rite nex to her where efur she went.
A BIG crack o' thunder happened. It musta been rite ofur there, it wuz That loud.
Mommy kept tellin Tux is wuz ok, clam down, b cool.
We went to bed. Now Tux usually sleeps on a doggy bed in our livin room but since Daddy has been away (he's still gone, home nex week) Tux has been hangin out in our bedroom. Las nite with the storm goin on, he wuz breathin on Mommy, he wuz that close. Mommy plugged in her Scent Ball with lavender 'ssential oil to help us all clam down an sleep. Wurked fur me an Mommy. Not so much for Tux. He wannered round an mostly breathed on Mommy. He wuz lickin his lickin his lips. Then SamCat came round to buddy up with Tux. He wuz happy an purrin an roamin round the bed.
Sure wuz a ruff night fur Tux.
One good thing: the lectricity nefur wented out durin the storm.
It did blink off this mornin. Yu no, blue sky makes that happen. :-/
Tux is kinda tired out today.
On a side note.
An here's whut our lil chickies look like now that they are bout 6 or 8 weeks old. No eggies yet, that happens when they are bout 5 months old.
They luv to get out in their chickie yard an scratch fur bugs an junk. Looks like they're in a jungle, huh? No, I can't get to them fur a sniff or taste. Boo.
I been havin whut the pros call "riter's blok". I am readin yur bloggies even if I'm not barkin a comment.
Hey, maybe that big crack o' thunder las' nite will blast away the blok!
Pee S I am rite unner Mommy's chair as she types this fur me. She tol' me, "Zoe don't let any buddy tell yu yur toots don't stink."