You never forget the smell of family

Reunited for the first time since being adopted a year ago. Boomer and Darcy, my "Formula One" foster dogs. A combined birthday and reunion party was held at Boomer's house on the coast. There were leis.

There was some time for play

A nice walk in the hills and the humans had a champagne lunch, spending a lot of the 3 hour meal exchanging dog stories.

I was presented with a tiara, from the dogs, which I wore with my pointy party hat. I shall treasure it always and may wear it to work tomorrow. You can barely see it in the picture above, darn it, so look below for a close-up.

I think this qualifies as a "Happy Ending" story.

Have you hugged The Devil today?

I was well received by The Devil this morning. A warm embrace and polite chit chat cannot distract me from what I know of the man who lies beneath. However, I can fake it with the best of them. I asked after his daughter and her children, knowing that they had moved back home after separating from The Devil's Son-in-Law. Poor Son-in -law is much too nice and too ordinary for this Princess. She broke his heart, telling him "He no longer made her shine". Unfortunately for him, his Devil Father-in-Law had persuaded him to close his own construction business and join the family firm. He was screwed up and down.
I waited before asking about the Russian girl friend. These things have a way of changing over time and I wasn't sure of her name, anyway. I thought I'd handle that if I saw her. I was left alone with Dave "The Minion" and asked if Ivana/whoever was still around. "Drug Overdose" was the response. She's GONE, as in Dead and...I had heard rumors that she was into drugs but tended to put that down to disgruntled bitching, as the new potential Step-Mom was younger than the children of the Devil's direct lineage.
Masons were building away; extending out the pool patio to create a new gathering area; constructing the bones of a fireplace with nary a master-plan or permit in sight. Cheap labor, some cement blocks and another monstrosity in the making. Add some MORE fake cement columns to garnish the seating area, already surrounded by OODLES of fake cement balustrades and, as I told TD, the whole thing is so cold and overdone that it is more like a banquet room in a hotel than a personal space. (My opinions are free, remember, and people do ask:)
I think he saw some reason. He said I was right. From past experience he can always change his mind (ten million times) and there is always prodding from Minion Dave, the troll-man who has his ear and tells lies about everything and everyone to maintain his power.
Next up discussion of the trip to France. The Devil will be meeting Arnold in Paris and traveling together to Afghanistan, to visit with the Troops. Somebody's Image Consultant has been working hard. Arnold does need to rehabilitate his image. Apparently the press in Europe are kinder than here. He needs a break from the bashing he's been getting. I can't feel too sorry for him.

Some Assembly Required

When our daughter was young we had to decide what our Christmas traditions were going to be. According to Hubby, French children go to bed on Christmas Eve in an undecorated home and awake the next morning to a house magically transformed by Elves; a tree installed in all its glory overnight and garnished with presents all around.
I agreed that this sounded very special, from a kid's perspective and undertook to make it happen.
My memories of that time include traipsing around the near desolate "Emerald Forest" Xmas tree lot on a dark and rainy Christmas Eve, trying to pick an evergreen that was not shedding its needles or looking as if its branches had bed-head on one side.
Dragging home the chosen Fir, leaving sticky resinous sap in my car for ever more, we smuggled it into the living room with much shushing and giggling. We unwrapped tree ornaments, untwisted tinsel and untangled skeins of tiny colored lights. The candy canes were hung on the branches, (new ones as last years canes had become ant-infested), all the while being intermittently pounced on by our young cat, who believed that the tree and all the accoutrements were for her entertainment alone.
One memorable present was a large wooden doll's house that opened to allow access to the rooms inside. There was Lilliputian furniture that could be rearranged and even lights that could be switched on and off.
As 4 a.m. Xmas Eve (Christmas Day morning) came and went and I was still glueing individual shingles on to the roof of our "some assembly required" Doll's House, that had exited it's packing box in a million pieces, with an instruction manual a foot thick, I vowed that next year's Elves would be taking a more leisured approach; spreading out their preparations, allowing our daughter to participate in the process.
I do carry a snapshot in my mind's eye of a blond, blue eyed angel, her whole face shining and expressing an "Ohhh!" of wonderment as she descended the stairs that Christmas morning to survey the magnificent results of some very hard working Christmas Tree Fairies.