I wish I could draw

If I could draw cartoons, I'd draw a cartoon of two turkey vultures floating over our house tonight. We'd just finished a barbecued pork loin dinner and were lounging in our Cabella's chairs. I told Regis that one vulture said to the other one: I'm not sure I can get that woman off the ground but that scrawny guy looks like he'd be easy to pick up. Now, that's funny.

We spent all day today outside. I got up from time to time and watered some plants, picked up sticks, pulled a few weeds, but mostly we just sat and watched the clouds roll by. Regis sat with his knees sticking out in the skin cancer zone all day and didn't get one lick of sunburn. I sat in the shade and burned the hell out of one arm. How does that happen? Don't I have any of those things that people at the equator have?

Our neighbor with the red shed, "Get Your Yum On" Paul, came over with a sample of his barbecued pork and black bean burritoes. Man that guy can cook and it's so nice that he does most of it outside. Regis made a brined pork loin that was delicious but I have to say that first he exploded a blender full of pina coladas on the kitchen floor, then he opened the foil on the pork and poured the juices all over the floor. Bless his heart. Men should only cook outside over dirt and should not be allowed anywhere there is a floor that has to be mopped. I'm going to put a sign up for the vultures.

Our neighbor dog Waldo (looks like a black Great Dane) has become an efficient hunter in the last few weeks. He discovered a bunny nest and he waits quietly until a bunny comes out and then he makes short work of the future rabbit. I know our neighborhood can't support all those rabbits, as I've noted before, but I don't want to witness the slaughter of the little ones. Bert used to ravage rabbit nests too, and I hated him for it. When he was done he would prance into the house like he's just tangled with a lion instead of a rabbit that weighed less than a pound. At least cats hunt in the dark of night and keep it to themselves.

Bert didn't like cats either. One day I spotted one under the birdfeeder so I knocked on the picture window to shoo it away. It didn't move so I opened the front door to shout at it and Bert bolted right through the door. The cat streaked across the lawn, Bert in hot pursuit. I thought there was going to be a bloody battle but the cat made it to the front porch of the house next door. Bert, feeling vindicated, came prancing home, pissing on every vertical thing taller than a blade of grass. Nothing like treeing a cat to make those male hormones flow.

I was thinking last night about do-overs. There are books and movies that were so good the first time that it would be nice to be able to read or see them again for the first time. Not like I don't enjoy them the second time, but nothing is like the first time.