Because Virginia is making a nest. She has used up the several handfuls of hay and is now making do with shredded newspaper. Babies due tomorrow. Squee.
It rained earlier in the week. Which was notable only because it has been so dry. Here is Shed Elv*s, and rain, through the kitchen winder.
For Shannon, here is Buster at age thirteen, and he is still creakin' along.
I don't even want to think about for how much longer. He still knows that he needs to be outside for peein' and poopin', so that is a Good Thing. Deep down inside, I know that his future with us is short. He, on the other hand, has no idea. Bless is good old doggy heart.
I combed my hair out last night, which always amazes me. It is so long! To the bottom of the butt.
There are times that I toy with getting the whole mess whacked off and letting the gray take over.
Then I remember what that means - haircuts every 4 to 6 weeks. Yuck and Ick. I cannot bear salons, hair cutteries, or barbers. Waste of money is what that means.
The thing with my hair being so long, and me being so old, is that style is not the thing. I wash my hair every two or three weeks. At times, even every four weeks. If the scalp feels icky in between shampoos, I spritz vinegar onto the head and hair.
I wear my hair up all of the time, which protects the ends. (My hair is thin but healthy.) It also makes me appear taller. (Almost tall enough for my weight. Ha ha.) It is incredibly easy to care for. And so, I never convince myself to cut it all off.
But I think about it.
