A puppy is but a dog, plus high spirits, and minus common sense

Cowboy went to morning services. 
For now, all they are having is Sunday School and morning services.
While he was gone, Badger and I did a thorough cleaning of the house. 
It wasn't filthy, but we do have a lot of fluff flying around now.
Duff the Destroyer really enjoys plucking stuffing from his toys.
Badger attempted to wash my bedroom throw rug. 
She did a fairly good job of it, but a carpet cleaner would have been better.
Of course, we don't have a carpet cleaner.
It’s a little cleaner than it started out. 
It may be a few days before it dries, though.

After Cowboy got home, we went to our local grocery store and picked up a rotisserie chicken and some sides for lunch.
 I think Cowboy was afraid we might have tacos again.
We came home, had dinner, and he disappeared.

I walked outside, heard drilling or something, and Cowboy had decided to make Duff a run. 
We usually just tie him to the basketball goal.
I don't dare let him roam free—S. said he was a runner.

I'm not sure if putting Duffy on my she shed was a good idea. 
He shakes it—and the TV—every time he moves.
He’s an odd duck. 
Or I guess it’s pretty warm outside, and he’s a black dog, so he probably heats up fast. 
Most of the time, he crawls under the she shed.
He’s alright under there, but I do worry about snakes sharing the cool dirt.

Once Cowboy was done, he plowed up the garden to replant it.

I’ll admit it: Badger and I were lazy, just sitting around.
Honestly, there isn’t a lot to do.

We had a few rumbles of thunder, so we came in and stayed in.
It storms all around us—even across the road from us—but we never get more than a few rumbles, maybe a streak or two of lightning.

I got a very strange IM from a person—her granddaughter graduated this year.
I let Cowboy read it, and he agreed it sounded snippy.
More or less, she said she remembered Badger getting recognition when she graduated last year, and now she’s getting recognition again.
It was said in a way that felt almost hateful—like I shouldn’t have posted about Badger yesterday.
Cowboy said she needed to just mind her own business.

We were watching Raven’s boys, and no—Badger really didn’t get recognized for having graduated.
The kids Badger went to school with from Pre-K to 8th are being celebrated, and I still feel like Badger should be at least partially a part of that celebration.
It was a Facebook post on a personal page. 
I didn’t post to the newspaper, the high school web page, or the community page.

Tomorrow is Memorial Day, so Cowboy is off. 
We have no plans, and I don’t expect to see the boys.
I know what’s up with Raven, but I don’t know what’s going on with Peacock and Heron.

I have a kind of funny story about a WWII vet—this time of year always reminds me of it for some reason.
My grandpa fought in WWII, as did his brothers. 
He lost one brother in Belgium.
So whenever he and his buddies got together, it was inevitable they’d reenact the war.
We were at a thrift store, and Grandpa had picked up a very old, very long barbecue fork—similar to this —and he was showing how he stabbed Nazis with his sword.

Um… they had swords? 
Maybe it was a bayonet.
I was about three or four years old, and I didn’t see the fork or his air-stabbing demonstration. 
I ran right up to him—and straight into that fork.
It went in at the corner of my eye. 
It barely missed going in my eye.
I don’t remember much else except waiting for a tetanus shot at the doctor’s office and begging to go home.
The nurse liked to sit on me to give me shots—and yes, ma’am, she literally sat on my small, scrawny back while the doctor socked it to me.
Not just for the tetanus shot—it was pretty much every week when I had to go in for B12 shots. 
And we’re talking about a nurse who easily weighed around 200 pounds (ca. 91 kilogram).
I still have the scar. 
Over the years, it’s moved down to my cheek and looks like a chickenpox scar.
Grandpa died when I was eight, so I guess—oddly enough—when I see the scar in the mirror, I’m reminded of him.