Brooke here:
A peaceful Saturday morning here, so there is time but no motivation to write. I’m sitting on a few substantial posts, such as the trip to Randall Jarrell’s grave, waking up to a delightful 55-degree house as the heater had crapped out, and why Rottweiler Prime is doped out of his gourd on what the vet referred to as “doggie vicodin,” but I’m just going to sit here and drink my tea.
While watching my dog trip balls.
Flying by night 
Whatever the reason for the doggie Vicoden, hope the dog’s okay and the whole experience wasn’t one of those hell-ack-rundashvetNOW-ohandexpensive dealies.
Brains often find their way home again. Just don’t ask it too many questions about where it has been.
I am both petty & easily amused.
I have been known, on occasion, to attach a treat (or even just a piece of cereal) to the back of the dog’s collar or the sweet spot ‘tween his shoulder blades just to watch the clown antics that ensue as he tries to find the treat that he can smell. Once he realizes that its there, he either goes into a death spin trying to get it or he sits and over-dramatically sulks because he can’t get it until I relent or it comes off on its own.
Now this may sound a bit cruel to do to him, but this is a serious couch-potato dog that refuses to go out in cold or wet weather and will wedge himself under furniture or a car rather than go out. If I bought pee pads, he’d never leave the house until daylight savings kicks in again. But he’ll climb a 10ft snow bern for a stale crust of bread.