We've had a couple of visitors recently who left behind comments, which is one heck of a lot better than leaving some things behind that I can think of.
Raine and MulledVine have been here, so Hello and Welcome and please come back.
I imagine they visited because of LegalMist's Friday Feature on moi, and perhaps we've had some other guests as well who slipped in and out without commenting.
Now that you have me on the subject of leaving things behind, I must tell you about taking Thoreau the Treeing Walker Coonhound with me when I picked up my Favorite Young Woman from school.
F.Y.W. attended a private high school - a very ritzy prep school with only a few students in each class and fancy schmancy stuff going on all the time. When they put on a play, they had the most gorgeous costumes - oy. And the grounds. Oy Oy Oy The perfectly cut green grass stretched on forever. It was in the middle of nowhere with mountains visible in the distance. Cell phones didn't even work there. Such a place you wouldn't even believe exists and my little F.Y.W. went to school there.
Her first three years she was a day student because we just barely lived within driving distance
so she couldn't have a scholarship to board. Quite often when I went to pick her up, I took one of the dogs with me, which pleased her immensely. Sometimes we had to wait a while for her so whichever dog and I would frolic on the gorgeous grounds, trimmed with scissors by dozens of yard elves who crept out at night to work.
However, I soon discovered that if I took Thoreau with me, then we always left something behind. I don't know what it was about that place that made Thoreau go, but he went; and I always imagined some snot-assed rich kid stepping right in the middle of it. It kind of pleased me because some of the snot-assed rich kids were not so nice and they needed a little something to bring them down to earth. "OMG I have shit all over my Jimmy Choos."
It was especially gratifying because when Thoreau shit, it looked like he was leaving great big brown barrels that he had just built. He was a big dog, and he could shit with the best of them. Oh my goodness how I loved that dog. I didn't mind scooping the yard after he decorated it, but when he pooped at the fancy school, I told my daughter that we had made a donation that day.
They were always asking the parents and alumni for money for this fund or that or their million jillion dollar capital campaign fund, and Thoreau made our donations for us.
Now don't get me wrong. It really was quite a good school, and I'm glad my F.Y.W. had the opportunity to go to school there and have better than average teachers and kick the rich kids' asses (valedictorian and lots of other awards). But everyone must have a little shit in their lives, and Thoreau and I were happy he could provide it.
Oy Oy Oy
Infinities of love,