All the king's horses and all the king's men...

Here's to the ghosts of Christmases past,

forever preserved in the halls of my memory,

next to the farmhouse and the rows and rows of filbert trees.

May our Father, which art in Heaven, put back together that which is broken. Amen.

Oh, we were like glory's gate, my darling.

I'm good at talking.

Or, I used to be. Anymore though, I'm an anti-social extrovert, and when it comes to blogging, I seemingly have nothing to say.

Hmm. Weird.

Anyway, Wes Anderson's latest masterpiece, Fantastic Mr. Fox, is due in theaters Thanksgiving Day, and I, for one, cannot wait. Do you suppose Regal Cinemas, overcome by the spirit of the holiday, will go soft on their no outside food policy, and allow me the mouthwatering pleasure of smuggled turkey and mashed potatoes? I hope so. In the meantime, this:



Oh, the sweet anticipation...

This is Tinker. She makes everyone happy.

Well, okay, most everyone; but we'll get to that later.

Tinker is a two-year-old, five-pound Toy Poodle, with a penchant for being charming and adorable, much like her mama. :) She's crazy about the beach, even crazier about cheese, and enjoys showing off for company by dancing, shaking hands, and leaping through a glittery, hot pink hoola hoop.

Tinker's extremely conversational and makes for excellent company, despite her seemingly limited vocabulary, or her inability to actually pronounce any words. She's a self-employed couch-lounger and squirrel-chaser, moonlighting as my personal space heater, and--as far as we can gather--is absolutely shaken to the core by the mere existence of other canines on the planet. We all have our hang-ups, I suppose.

But the best part about Tinker is...I am absolutley, over-the-moon, throw-me-in-the-mud nuts about her. And this seems to really tick a lot of people off.

Dog Scrooges. That's what they are. People who roll their eyes at the bows on her ears, her painted nails, or her teal and royal purple custom-made halter, which makes her look like a cast member in a lavish and extravagant Off-Broadway stage production of "The King and I". They call her a rat or, worse yet, a "kick-me dog". They assume she's yappy and obnoxious, they imply she's worthless, and they think me silly for owning her.

To them, these Dog Scrooges, I say, "Well, isn't it great she doesn't live at your house?"

Yes, painted nails on a dog is silly. I get that. But what's the problem? Do my dog's fancy toes decrease your quality of life? (For the record, I've never painted her nails, nor have I ever requested it be done. Anna, Tinker's sweet and patient groomer, paints them because it's cute, because she knows it will make me happy.) And, yes, talking to Tinker or on her behalf is also silly, but I do it because Tinker responds to it, because it makes us both happy.

Really, I don't mind if people think I'm silly. The way I see it, those who exhaust so much of their efforts on formulating opinions about what others are doing are merely small people keeping themselves from experiencing fullness of life, which is too bad for them.

That's what this blog is about, after all: fullness of life.

This includes Collin, who loves me and therefore humors me. This includes Tinker, who is delightful and makes every day better. And, yes, this even includes my illegal quest for backyard chickens.

Welcome to the Great Chicken Caper.