Next Thing You Know, I'll Catch Him Wearing White

Somebody needs to tell Puppy Jack that swimming season is over. That the pools close after Labor Day, because the weather gets colder. Like 45 degrees last night, and a high of 70 if you're lucky.

This afternoon, Hick sent me a picture of my precious Puppy Jack. He appears to be dog-paddling.

My Sweet, Sweet Juno, long of leg, is merely wading. Maybe she's playing lifeguard for little Jacky. As usual, he takes the lead.

And as keeping with Hick's photographic style, there's a lot of scenery, and the tiny subject in the center of of the picture. This was down by Hick's creekside cabin. The dogs love a field trip with Hick and his Gator. I don't think they go down here much alone. When he fires up the Gator, though, they run hopefully in that direction.

Neither dog will ride with Hick. Perhaps they've heard that he's a master sweaver. Juno lays on the floor of the passenger side when the Gator is parked, but jumps out when Hick starts it up. He says Jack is always getting in the glove box, which is as absurd as Jack climbing up on the trunk of Hick's Toronado and taking a crap. Thomas Jefferson would be more likely to do that, and we know that he prefers a boot! When called on it, Hick said that Jack stands on his hind legs and noses around in the glove box. Uh huh. Hick tries to stretch the truth farther than Jack's dachshund ancestry stretched his body.

By next summer, I think Hick needs to put a gate at the top of the steps to Poolio. Jack likes swimming too much, and I don't think he could climb out if he jumped in.