Bouffant Blonde

Sunshine is a lab. She loves to hunt. She loves to catch things that move. It really doesn't matter what. Of course with the weather near 100 degrees and the heat index even higher, she's abandoned much of that. Except when something just happens to cross her path. She really can't help herself. I knew something was up when she scrambled out from under the van (which she is really too big to be under) and raced across the yard. I hadn't seen her move that quickly in weeks. She's so laid-back that her usual mode of travel is slow and leisurely. She immediately started looking for something. Her nose was in high gear. I didn't know what she saw. I figured maybe a squirrel. She likes to go after squirrels. I know the squirrels get a good laugh as they jump from tree to tree without the dogs ever having a clue. Sunshine started trying to move some tin stacked next to the cattle trailer. Soon, Little Guy and Miss Lady Bug had joined the search. I tried to be helpful...

It's officially summer in the South. Okay. Maybe not officially. The calendar still says May so that must be right. But with 90-plus weather and humidity that just seems to hange in the air, it definitely feels like summer. The dogs park themselves either under a vehicle or in front of the garage fan. Little Guy thinks that fan belongs to him. His sister, Sunshine, was lying in front of it. She's a big girl. Labs tend to be big. Little Guy, while not really small, is about half her size. He simply eased in front of her and plopped down. Completely blocking the air flow to her. It says a great deal about her pleasant personality that she merely got up and walked away. I would have swatted him had I been in her place. Miss Lady Bug has decided the laundry room is the place to be. Unless laundry is being done, of course. That fan was blowing her ears and hair back, almost like she was riding in a convertible with the top down. This was one happy dog. And for those who think we...

My parents love to travel to the beach. It's a fun day for them. My father especially likes to travel different routes -- every time. Years ago my aunt and uncle made several trips to Pensacola with my parents to see a sick relative. My aunt told me that at first she'd tried to pay attention so she would know the way next time. She laughed. "He goes a different way every time we drive down there. I get so confused. I finally threw in the towel. If we ever need to go on our own, I'll just have to use a map." I know the feeling. We went to Destin and Ft. Walton Beach yesterday. We went on country roads until finally the interstate loomed ahead and we -- thankfully -- headed up the entrance ramp. Of course, we had to exit and travel more miles just a little ways down the interstate but those roads I knew. They were good roads. Not pig trails. For those not familiar with that Southern expression, pig trails refers to a narrow road. The asphalt is generally crumbling ...