On account of the abundant sunshine, (because that is literally what the forecast has been for the past two mornings:  Abundant.  Sunshine.) I have been struggling with this whole sitting-inside-and-writing thing a bit more than usual.  Given that it’s mid-November, and given that I know what the wretched months of January through April hold in store, it’s been hard to fight the “But this could be the last sunny day!” logic the dogs have been using lately, to get me to take them on multiple walks.

At least I think that’s their logic.  I don’t speak dog.

Luckily for me — and for the Great Publishing Powers waiting on the other end…Hi GPPs!  Don’t let this blog post fool you!  I am TOTALLY making progress!  Everything is RIGHT ON TRACK!!! —

So anyway, luckily for us all,  it’s deer-hunting season, which makes afternoon woods-walking a bit more exciting.

Particularly when one of your dogs is rather deer-like in every way, up to and including the way she prance-hops through the brush and plays a little game we like to call “What’s that?  I can’t hear you.  I’ll just be over here impersonating a doe.”

To make matters slightly more embarassing (while thwacking through the underbrush, cursing my lack of orange reflective garments and praying to not be shot with a bow and arrow — because, oh, did I mention? We haven’t even entered the joy that is shotgun season around here yet,) the deer-dog’s name is Venga, which, for those of you who took French or Latin, means “Come!” in Spanish.

Ha.  Ha.

I guess what I’m trying to say is, thank you, hunting season.  For giving me a solid excuse to work today.

Also, here’s this:

It’s lived in my head for days, and now I share it with you, in an effort to be rid of it once and for all.

You are welcome.