Harriet crashed out on the couch, with her ears up. She’s all about The Comfy, so she’s lying on top of a fleece blanket, with an afghan on top of her. It was a gelid 70F inside, poor baby. (I love the way the fur on her chin turned out in this photo. If you’ve ever petted a horse’s muzzle, that’s what a Boxer muzzle feels like. Soft and velvety, like moleskin.)
Since becoming an only dog, Harriet’s style of play has changed a bit. She plays more by herself, and when she does, she engages in more fetch-chase-kill!kill!kill! games. She’s even begun growling and vocalizing while “killing” toys, which cracks me up. Tennis balls are often the victims of these games. She tosses them around, chases them, grabs them, then shake-shake-shakes them dead, all the while snarling and growling and basically telling them what she thinks of them. This time, after playing on her own for awhile, she spit out the ball and play bowed at me, inviting me to play with her. Meanypants that I am, I took her picture instead. It’s not a very good photo, because I had to act quickly.
red paper boat 