Brats, peppers, and onions over the charcoal this evening.
GettingCooked
mastodon 4.6.8A dude named Ludd. Follow along as I build and rebuild the carbon Kitchen, my ongoing culinary experiment, and experience, in my backyard. Maybe some gardening. And the occasional rant. And a bit of Rush when the mood strikes me. Okay, probably a lot of Rush.
Nothing kills a 3-beer buzz quicker than a 3-dog walk in the woods. But it's all part of the owner/pet agreement, and I wouldn't have it any other way. These beauties save my soul at least twice a day when we get out into our woods, and away from the madding crowd and such. #DogIsMyCopilot
We're getting the band back together.
My poor pup, Beaufort, went to the groomer's for the first time today. Apparently he was so terrified he shat all over the joint. Three times. And expressed his anal glands. With the special handlling fee, and a sizeable tip, that was one very spendy bath.
My X feed is 24/7 Charlie Kirk. Totally not a psy-op.
My 80 pound Labrador, Beaufort, decided he'd wake me up this morning by stomping on my junk. I haven't felt that much pain since I was hit in the nuts with a Mylec road hockey ball, back in 1981. I was hit so hard then I threw up in my goalie mask. Well, it was a friend's goalie mask, Until I puked in it, then he made my folks buy him a new one; Domenic was a hard-ass even at 9 years of age.