Channeling Saint Francis...

Baby P and Georgie, checking out the squirrels. 12/26/2006. Still hungover at this point, but no massive head injury as a result of the freezer door. Yet. Georgie licked my nose, and was purring. In time for Purim. This is unusual due to the fact that George doesn't normally like being picked up all that much. Oh sure, he'll tolerate it. Maybe even give you a raspy nostril lick. But that's a warning. Then the chattering will start. Followed by the bunny feet doing that little kicky thing. Then it's "best be down", or the bastige will start flipping around like Regan in "The Exorcist". No lie.

Rocky and Baby P, X-mas morning. Rocky is getting a whiff of a bloody mary kiss. (Gross). He's my hairy younger brother, even though he's 56 in dog years. We have this arrangement whenever I visit my folks where he gets super hyper-barky and I have to sit on their stairwell while he jumps up on me and gives me a "hug" (Paws on both of my shoulders) this is usually immediately followed by "kisses" on both of my ears (Funny. He doesn't look French) before hopping down. (And followed with my dad looming after him saying "WHOSE doggie are YOU?!?!")

I usually wear my grubbier shirts and light colors whenever I visit, lest I return home looking like a sasquatch.