A little birdie made me rememeber . . .
“Wake up!” it said, “for it’s November!”
And then it said, “Achoo! Achoo!”
Poor little birdie had Avian Flu.

Good lord, November! It seems like just yesterday it was last November. If I didn’t still have the skin of a twenty-two year old, I don’t know what I’d do.

We took Goblin to a new vet yesterday because we were getting tired of her trying to rip open the throat of her old vet. She only tried to rip out the throat of her new vet for a little while, and then she got with the program. Her eventual cooperation, however, was not enough to avoid the dreaded "beware of the wild beast" sticker they put on her file.

Despite the occasional massacre, I love going places with Rob and our inhuman child. Everyone always calls us her daddies. Maybe that’s why she walked down the aisle with us when we got married . . . the way to societal approval is through our little wolverine.

Now wake me up when it’s December.