Tuesday, April 26, 2005
Anyway, here is Harry, in the lap of luxury, that of his natural human mother: Hillary, who raised him from a pup.
The white object standing on a pole in the background is a Manhattan bus stop sign procured after an East Side automobile accident. The gilt object of Harry’s desire (or at least mine) was a street find passed on from friends June & Edmund. Cig accent: True Green 100.
Sunday, April 24, 2005
Harry prospered through his sixteenth birthday celebration. I'll get the snapshot of the lamp shade on his head uploaded soon.
Oh c’mon now, that is 112 years in Purina-human terms. He continues to be his curmudgeonly self, sleeping 36 hours a day, yet playing like a puppy when he wants a cookie or choosing to disparage our TiVo selections favoring Law and Order over Animal Planet. Like human decogenarians, he seems to be focused on his alimentary regularity. The basics. And friendship.Harry's a dog. My best friend. Nothing less.