Now, you see, if Mojo ever thought ahead about such things, she'd have pictures. But we all know how pointless it is to wish Mojo would do things in a logical and rational fashion. So instead I will force you to rely on your imagination, which will either leave you with a total blank (thank you, television!) or with a picture far, far worse than an actual picture would convey.

Let us begin with Mojo noting that it is now Skunk Season in her neck of the woods. Not that people hunt skunks--not sane people, at any rate--but only that they are now oot and aboot. Since they are universally nocturnal (and Mojo is congenitally anosmic, as we all know by now) Mojo only knows this via her driving around and seeing the many dead skunks along the highways and byways of this great nation. Well, that, and the following:

Mojo's Favorite Older Sister has a yellow lab named Miles. Miles is about Rosie's age and they both share the same sunny, playful disposition. (I can't speak for my Favorite Older Sister, but OUR last dog, George, while he was a nice enough dog, lived totally in his resentful little concrete-filled head. He bore grudges like NOBODY'S BUSINESS. He was pleasant enough toward us, but he was NOT a happy dog, in the doofus-grinning sense. No, George was a snotty intellectual who spent most of his time resenting the limited rights dogs had compared to humans, and grumbling on his bed plotting revenge if he felt wronged. But again I digress.) Both Miles and Rosie enjoy playing with their respective cats--well, Rosie did until Ratty's recent demise, that is. And very recently, one evening Miles discovered a NEW feline friend behind the barn, and tried to entice it to play with him. A black and white one.  MORE Mojo! »

Our poor dawg met Mister Porcupine today for the first time. One of my complaints about Ratty cat is that he is WAY too forgiving with the dog. At times Rosie could really use a good swat on the nose with a couple of claws in the mix, but Ratty just doesn't have it in him. Not even with mice anymore; early on when he still thought he was a stray he was an excellent mouser, but now the ones he brings in the house may be psychologically traumatized, but there is rarely a scratch on them when he lets them go in our beds at two in the morning.

So we had to spend about an hour this morning acquainting Rosie with another new friend, who we call Mister Needle-nosed Pliers.  MORE Mojo! »