April 19, 2002 - 1:32 p.m.
Blech.
Summer has hit early in Hampton Roads, filling my house with the hum of ceiling fans and the scent of hot dog. Not hot dogs, just hot dog. Hot black lab/rotte, to be specific.
Even after a bath, Solo still smells rather canine. A long time between baths and he stinks. Our old house had a soaking tub in the master bath, low enough that he could get into it with no trouble. He's a big fella, but jumping isn't one of his strong points. Both tubs here are the standard sort, made slightly higher by tracks for sliding doors instead of curtains, and Solo just can't get into them.
He came in this morning from his a.m. constitutional and the musky smell of hot dog just wafted in with him.
Ugh.
I think Solo has a date with the hose tomorrow morning.
But Zachary is nonplussed by his stench. Solo has become the toddler jungle gym, step stool, and cuddle buddy. He's taking it rather well, though I still keep a close eye on them.
Zachary is also discovering how to whistle. He's not very good at it yet. Try puckering up to make a very open "O" with your lips - kind of like a fish face - and make a very soft whistle. He's quite impressed with himself over it. He's also begun singing "Old MacDonald" to himself, with a greater variety of animals. It sounds something like this:
"Yi Yi Oh! Duck here. Duck here. Duck, duck everywhere. Yi Yi Oh! Me-ow! Me-ow! Me-ow Me-ow everywhere. Yi Yi Oh! Bark here. Bark here. Bark bark everywhere. Yi Yi Oh!"
And so on.
Much still to do while he sleeps...
