Happy weekend, guys! I’m sitting here, enjoying the last of my coffee and still riding on the grooviness of last night’s Concrete Blonde show. Amazing. SO amazing.

This weekend is going to be full of house-hunting, spending time with friends, babysitting, and playing outside. In the spirit of playfulness, I wanted to share the poem my grandfather wrote for our dalmatian, many years ago:
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The poem says:
Dotty, Dotty, you fire dog spotty.
Here is the word from your Grandoddy.
He is the one who runs in the sun.
That son of a gun. That Captain called Fun.
In the sun he runs with a friend with spots.
That friend has spots which look like dots.
That friend runs with leaps and bounds.
That friend is a streaker who flies close to the ground.
That friend is a hound who runs round and round.
That spotty dotty. That Ding-a-ling
Will leap and bound and fling in the Spring.
In the sun she will run with that son-of-a-gun.
The Captain who runs. The one called FUN.
This poem made me giggle and giggle when I was a little girl. He sent it three days before my 6th birthday.

Here is a picture of Dotty. It was a total mistake, some film in a camera that didn’t rewind all the way and was accidentally double-processed. I remember flipping through the photos at the drugstore counter and coming across this one. We laughed for days.
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Happy, happy weekend everyone! Go fling in the sun!
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