Scooter’s Happiness Regime begins about fifteen minutes after his night’s sleep ends

“That WAS you, wasn’t it, with Scooter running off-leash?”

“Oh, really?”

Scooter said, “Here’s the problem, Mom. There’s an odor in the house, and I recognize it. Otis.”

“Are you playing me, Scooter?”

Scooter started with a question.

“You made sourdough English Muffins today.” Scooter is observant.

SEVENTY! Seventy times now, my mom and I have posted news about my life

 “It wasn’t funny, Mom.”

“I thought the Ciabatta was your favorite” I said.

“It was.”

“What happened?”

“You guys are a fluid feast of salt, protein, and stuff,” said he

 If the above paragraph resonates with you, if you can hardly wait . . .

I’m a cooperator. Got it. I’ll get us home

My mom and I were playing catch in Otis’s back yard. My mom’s a terrible tosser.

I should tell you about all the reasons people visit Santa Fe

“The picture you see here from Santa Fe is me, laying in a bed of clover,”

I’m in Santa Fe.

“Still, it was pretty funny,” said Scooter. “Until I hear you say that bad word.”

Have you ever smelled California’s Central Valley? Oh my! It is glorious.