WEIRD SCIENCE

I'm bobcumdistulated today for some reason and can't seem to put two consecutive thoughts together. Is it the weather? (Thank you, by the way, Mike Hoffman, for NOT throwing a hysterical fit this time....but do you think you could have fixed that weather report to say "You're going to get snow" instead of "It's going to be 45 and sunny all week"?!)

So I suppose this means I have to go outside to shovel a place for Little Lord Fauntleroy to....well...you know.

Speaking of which...

A few weekends ago I watched the entire season of Downton Abbey that I had taped on the dvr thingie. I enjoyed it immensely, but we had an "episode" here at Chez Spinster that caused me to call Aunt Chrissy and whisper into the phone that something very very strange was going on with my little dog.

In one of the scenes, the residents prepare for a hunt (you know...when the Turkish guy comes for a visit), and everybody gathers on horseback and then the hunt master (or whatever he's called), blows the horn to begin the hunt.

Now right up until this time, Stewey was sound asleep and snoring away on the ottoman, and if memory serves, he was nestled under a blanket and had nary a nose hair showing.

The minute that horn sounded, he JUMPED off of the ottoman and stood in the dead center of the room at full attention with his tail straight out and his little front paw hitched up like he was ready to take off.

It scared the absolute BeJesus outta' me.

When I called Aunt Chrissy, I figured she would say something like "Oh my God! There's somebody trying to break into your dining room window and Stewey is protecting you!" or "Quick! Get out of the house now! There's something bad that is about to happen and Stewey is alerting you!", but instead all she did was sigh heavily and mutter a big fat "DUH!".

(Apparently I am the only person on the planet who doesn't know that Jack Russell terriers were bred to be hunting companions, and that the horn was their signal to come to attention.)

(And, since you all know Stewey....you can imagine that the only hunt he would ever have been involved in would have been for a proper cravat to wear with his little silk smoking jacket and that if, in fact, he were to participate in an actual hunt it would be atop a horse and properly attired in some sort of fetching getup.)

So that's life here today. I am watching him out of the corner of my eye to see what crazypants thing he'll do next and to procrastinate pulling on the boots to shovel snow.

How's your Tuesday going?