Stirring the pot

I think I'm going to name him Bueller.

No, not the puppy. Two mornings running I'm making breakfast or cleaning up after breakfast, look out the kitchen window and see a plump little cottontail working on the grass that grows around my gray-water pool. Just outside the Lair. Just as if there weren't three big, carnivorous-as-hell dogs hanging around all about me. And he just loiters out there, with not a care in the world. This morning I went outside to dispose of some cans, and he moved out of the way so sluggishly I could have killed him with a rock if I'd wanted to.

Used to be you never, ever saw rabbits near the Lair. No rabbit is ever likely to be a Nobel Laureate in mathematics, but they're not that dumb. Either this one really is that dumb, or my boys are really, really slowing down.

If all goes according to schedule, the new puppy (puppy name TBD) is due to arrive tomorrow morning or afternoon. If that doesn't stir things up on the dog front around here, I surely don't know what would. I like the peace and quiet, but too much of a good thing is just plain bad. I think maybe a few things around here could use a good stir.

Granted that in another six weeks or so if all goes according to plan (and no such thing has gone to plan yet) it'll all be moot. Soon there'll be other people here, and other dogs. That will sure as hell stir things up, and I'm coming to the belief that that'll be good all around. I can't seem to rouse myself to get much work done anymore, either physical or literary; all I want to do is play with the dogs, read and nap. Even if it's aggravating as hell at first, the dogs aren't the only ones around here that need to get their somnolent asses in gear.

So bring it on, Bueller. Let's see how long you last in our sleepy little desert world after we've stirred the pot just a little!