Dr Doolittle

That's the title of what had to be the most painful movie-watching experience I've endured for the sake of my children, who seemed pretty well rapt throughout. And it was painful - the songs were weird, strangely keyless warbles about nothing, inspired, apparently, by odd bits of dialogue that popped up randomly, as if there had been a contractual obligation to sing every seven minutes or face fines.

But I bring it up now because I am doing very little. And the reason? My animals. I want to get some photos up. First, to illustrate the changing colors on Skittles:



All that brownish tinge up toward her shoulders and head, noticeably different from the rest of the coat, is getting sparser and sparser. I think it's falling out, leaving her the color that the rest of her is. Here's another look:



Up around her ears - see how it's a bla, colorless sort of brown...? It reminds me of the dead, hollow, greasy hair that used to come off Dad's outside hounds in clumps every spring.

Speaking of decrepit hounds, here's one:



Hobie doesn't find the sunbeam or the glow of the stove to be quite warm enough. But together...! That's age for you. If he could, he'd be wearing sweat pants and a bath robe pretty much all the time. (Heck, though, so would I.) If you look closely, you can see Death, lurking around in the reflection on the stove door, checking his watch, tapping his foot. I shouldn't say that - he's really very healthy for such an old dog. I think I'm just preparing myself for life without Hobie. We had a big tickle-fest happening this evening, and sure enough, he waltzed over and stuck his snout in the middle of the action, growling playfully, wanting me to knock him around like in the olden days. I gave him a few shakes, and it was like old times. Strange. I've had him longer than I've been with Janneke.

And there you are. No kid updates, no big news - other than that Team Trivia has come and gone, and that we achieved the absolute best possible outcome.

More on that later...