Where the Old Yellow Fern Grows

Yesterday Christine's dog Bubba had to be put to sleep. He had liver cancer that was untreatable, and he wouldn't have lasted much longer. He was a sweet dog, except for his breath, and he looked exactly like I picture Fortinbras in A Wrinkle in Time (despite the fact that he doesn't match Madeline L'Engle's description at all).

Now we're down to one dog, Murphy, who looks exactly like a dingo and has the most personality of any dog I've ever known. He keeps begging to be let outside, where he runs around looking for Bubba. He's lonely. Christine's parents are talking about getting another dog. Christine's trying to talk them into getting a pug. I don't think it's going to happen.

Sorry I haven't been visible in any form in the last week. I've become addicted to a new computer game, Neverwinter Nights. I know, it's lame, but while you might think I've been doing nothing, I've actually tracked down four magical creatures to make a cure for the plague that was started by a cult that had secretly infiltrated the upper echelons of Neverwinter's government. And you wonder why I don't have time for you commoners.

I'll do my best to come up for air more often. Thanks for letting me know you miss me.