It's always something

If it's not one thing, it's another, as Roseanne Roseannadanna's father used to say. On Thursday night around nine o'clock, I took Tasha outside for the last time before bedtime. We wandered around a bit with no result. Then, suddenly, it started to rain. And thunder. Tasha turned and ran back into the house to get out of the rain (and so did I). We spent the next hour with Callie barking at the thunder and Tasha barking at Callie. Then, finally, sleep.

A rose in our garden.

Later, at about three-thirty in the morning, I woke up to the muffled sounds of Tasha poking around in the room. Uh-oh. So I got up, got dressed, and took her outside. The rain had ended and the moon was shining brightly. Then, suddenly, the loudspeaker out in the vineyard screamed out with wild animal noises (to scare the deer). It wasn't enough to scare the you-know-what out of Tasha, but still, she turned tail and ran back into the house (and so did I). Then, after a while, more sleep.

At five o'clock I opened my eyes and could see the back-lit silhouette of Tasha starting to crouch down across the room. I got up abruptly, startling her, got dressed (again) and whisked her outside (again). After a few minutes of sniffing around in the damp grass, she did her business. Tasha then trotted proudly back into the house (and so did I). What a night!