Mom is feeling pretty overwhelmed with the onset of festival seasons and the number of visitors she’s got arriving this week, so she asked me to step in for her for a spell. Truth is she can’t afford my services on the regular, which is why you haven’t seen me blog in some time, but I gave her a reduced rate today because I was feeling charitable (and she offered to cook me cabbage and Brussels sprouts, my two absolute favorites).
I mean, life here in the Tennessee boonies is pretty hectic as you might expect; we’ve been working on a pretty major home renovation, and of course they tapped me to offer design consultation while sourcing tile from Mission Stone & Tile in Nashville. I mean, obviously.
You don’t make these life-altering decisions without my paw of approval.
Luckily, Murphy’s mom came back after the weekend, and I was just left with Sophie, a foster dog who left clumps of fur and a trail of feces around the house in her wake. She was cute, I guess, but I wasn’t displeased to see her find a furever home two weeks later.
This weekend, one of the few canine pals I actually care to tolerate decided to come to the country for the weekend while his parents were away in New Orleans. You probably remember Maximus from our follies in Percy Warner Park. He’s about my size, a few pounds heavier, a couple years older.
His and her naps. I won’t point fingers, but you can tell who wears the pants in this relationship based on the choice of beds alone.
Max on high alert for the spirits in the attic. I may have told him this old house is haunted. Oops. Hey, I may be cute but I never claimed to be nice.