No politics here

Since my little Sally dog departed this life I have been on the lookout for a new companion. I look and I look.

I am happy to get a senior dog but after having Sally for only four months, I have realised that I can't afford a euthanasia every few months so I am a bit hesitant to get a golden oldie. Rescue groups are charging $500 - $600 even for a 14 year old and at 14 it's not going to be long before some serious decisions need to be made.
I am all for expecting people to pay, some of these dogs have had extensive vet work which all needs to be paid for. A high price tag also means you get the owners who are prepared to commit to the animal. It's all great in principal but it makes it tough for me. 

Late last night I saw this little dude. He was in a council pound for $100 and 5 years old, friendly, quiet, etc. He looked perfect.

The pound is an hours drive from my place and I considered being there at opening time but then I saw that they expect people to make an appointment. Rather than be at the door at opening and possibly turned away, I called at 8.30am.
"There were people waiting outside to see him, call in a half hour and find out if he was adopted"

Well, they took him. If I see him at Jack Russell rescue for $500 I won't be happy.

I guess the search continues.

My phone is full of screen shots of dogs I might consider, or dogs I would love to bring home but are too big, too old, too deaf or dig too much for me to take on.

After Christmas a random plate was left at my place. Eventually I asked SIL Brendan if it was his. He cheekily informed me that he wanted something on the plate when it was returned. My daughter married a comedian.

Anyhow, I decided I'd take a shot at making focacccia so I did that this morning instead of picking up my new dog. Brendan can have half but I need to test a chunk for the purposes of domestic development.

  I have booked to go and see "The Choral" this afternoon. A couple of hours in a dark, air conditioned room should do me good.

Nicknames

 I've been collecting Trump nick-names. I'm sure I'm not the first person to do it but what does that matter?

1. Dopey Mc Gropey

2. Mango Mussolini

3. Farty seven

4. Don the Con

5. Tangerine toddler

6. Cheetolini

7. Teddy Dozevelt

8. Trumpenstein

9.Humpy Trumpy

10. Julius Trump

11. Presidementia

12. Diaper Don

13. His MAGAsty

14. Kim Don Un

15. Cheeto Satan

Fortis Fortuna Adiuvat

 As much as I wish it were otherwise, I have always been a social media addict. When I say addict, I can put it down if I'm totally absorbed in something else but the minute my brain is free to wander, I default to facebook or instagram.
Right now, I barely get absorbed in anything else, I am so horrified and fascinated with what is happening in the US, particularly Minnesota.

I want to know what ICE is doing. I want to read intelligent commentary. I want to see all the clever and courageous acts of resistance. I want to know how much longer the chief narcissist can live, I want to know what will happen in a power vacuum.

After seeing huge numbers turn out in sub-freezing conditions to protest, I went to bed on Saturday night hopeful that the regime would soon collapse under the weight of all that opposition.

On Sunday I woke to the news of Alex Pretti's execution and realised I had been a fool. When abusers start to lose control, that's when they get even more violent and reactionary. The more resistance there is, the more sloppy and callous they become.

Every time I hear the words "federal agents" I rail against it. ICE agents are not federal agents, they are gun happy, insecure, entitled four year old incels in big, powerful bodies. And of course they are federal agents working for the regime of an insecure, entitled four year old incel.

Stand strong, Minnesota. Fortune favours the brave.