They didn't plow my road. They don't really plow in New York, I guess. Weird. I kind of like it. I don't drive, so it doesn't really make a difference to me whether or not they plow. It just seems like they might have felt obliged to plow.
My dog doesn't like rock salt. It gets in his paws and makes him very uncomfortable. I suppose I have no choice but to get him little dog booties. How embarrassing.
I fed my dog a couple of Belgian waffles this morning. He liked them, but I think he found them a little dry, because he drank a few gulps of water, afterward. Then he helped himself to a waffle nap. I got this great new waffle iron for Christmas. It rotates and makes two one-inch-deep waffles at a time. In the future, I see my dog and I enjoying many a waffle together. He loves that sort of thing. He loves anything involving food. In his mouth. He can't get enough of the food in his mouth. He'll just keep eating, really. If you put the food in front of him, he'll dispose of it, summarily. I respect that.
In case you were wondering what it sounds like when large pieces of plastic are blown around on the side of a building, just visit the construction site behind my apartment. It's a somber, inauspicious flapping, and it doesn't stop.
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