No walkies today. Decided to sleep in a little and let the ol' muscles (Mr. Wren assures me there are muscles under the fluff, really!) rest. I figure it's OK because I forgot to count last Sunday morning's 2-mile walk in the total I crowed over in the last post. Actually, I've walked 14 miles this week. (Re-cue Rocky theme.)
So I slept in for an hour, got up and caught the cat in an unguarded moment of debauch, then stepped out to the back garden, camera in hand. Here you can see what happens when Mr. Wren is allowed free rein with the Miracle Gro.:the Dreaded Morning Glories have taken over once again and the garden is in a near-wild state. The last shot is of what an artichoke looks like if you don't eat the 'choke, in case you wondered.
Yes, there are far more important things than a lazy cat and an overgrown garden to write about. And writing about trying to replace my fluffy self with a sleek, buffed self is self-indulgent, at best and untrammeled vanity at worst.
So shoot me. I'm proud of myself, the cat cracks me up and to me, the garden is ... awe-inspiringly messy. It's a profusion of life, a deadly struggle for dominance and quite breathtakingly beautiful. As far as I'm concerned, it's all very cool.