There’s something living under the Big Doghouse in Gitmo. The doghouse is in grave danger – possibly the whole power shed.
I don’t know what it is, but Little Bear wants it bad. He wavers like a spiritual seeker between passionate beliefs – one minute he believes that if he only digs enough he can catch it: The next he’s convinced that if he stands off and barks at it enough it’ll come out to be eaten like a civilized creature. So far, frustration. But he hasn’t given up.
He’s getting on my nerves. I fully expect to find the building collapsed in ruins – possibly on top of him – when I return from this morning’s geiger counters. If it lands on his head, it stands no chance of harming him.
heh, heh, living with dogs there is always drama.
Graboids?