A Betryal of Days

This is not my dog.

While I’m all up for a chill in the air, a friendly nip on the nose by Jack Frost, or a playful bite on the cheek from an eager Old Man Winter, waking up to 44 degrees in north Florida in early October I find a bit pushy.

Just saying.

So, all wrapped up in my big, fluffy, winter robe I greet you this Sunday morning feeling a bit betrayed.

The calendar has done me wrong.

Admittedly, the weathermen claim that I should still see a sunny 75 by this afternoon. So there is that to soothe my raw, unfairly goosebumped feelings.

Now, my dog, who is still sporting a late summer ‘do, may not be so easy to pacify.

She strolled outside this morning, fully prepared for the swamp-like conditions she has come to rely on to gently rouse her into a new day, only to have her unfurried butt nearly frozen off.

She was back to the door immediately, angrily barking to be let the f**k back in.

Currently, my little ruffian is curled up under a blanket, an afghan and a sweater on the couch staring daggers at the world.

She is not happy.

Which means I am not happy.

Which means I have just spent this entire post bitching about the weather.

Good grief.

What is this blog coming to?

Until tomorrow…



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