Rock You Like a Furricane

The Bronx is back. We’ve been puppysitting him for a week, and when he and Truman are in the same room, it’s CrackTown, U.S.A. They simply do not stop without enforced time-outs.

Bronx is a sweet little guy, six months old now and still intact. He’s pretty mellow on his own, but he and Truman have been taking turns doing inappropriate things to each other in the name of dominance. It’s been hard for me to accomplish anyth– excuse me for a moment, won’t you?


Ahem! Okay then. So, “Humpus and Grumpus,” as I’ve taken to calling them, are home with me today while Wolf is out doing some steam locomotive stuff and big band music stuff. It’s been a long day of absolute nonproductivity for me. I figured I could separate the boys successfully by taking Bronx out on a few errands (it’s nice to have a portable dog in the house again), and maybe stopping for coffee somewhere.

But I can’t find my keys.

And I’m almost certain they’re in Wolf’s car.

So I’m pretty sure I’m stuck here in the eye of the furricane until…tomorrow, basically, unless I feel like going out for coffee at 2 A.M., when I expect him home.

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