Gas Pains

Tom grew up in Milwaukee, bartended in Wauwatosa in the '70s and moved here in 1984.

Commentary, observations and musings about the outdoors, life in general and maybe Tosa politics and personalities will be the order of the day. He savors a lively debate as much as terrific cooking.

The Pitter Patter of Little Feet

Family, Girlfriend

I happen to think that there happens to be nothing more up-lifting than a puppy picture to brighten your day.

This is Girlfriend making her first retrieve. 

And about to learn that the retrieving dummy is a fetch toy and not a chew toy.

That little puppy - who I had to scoop-up like a football and scurry out-doors in the middle of the night to do her business - has grown into a remarkable adult. 

All ninety pounds of her.

She's a vigilant protector, gentle with children, an outstanding hunter, a constant companion and a good listener.

In many respects she is the perfect Girlfriend

She's four years of age already and by the time the 2011 bird season rolls around she'll be middle-aged.  Large breed hunting dogs are fortunate to live to ten years of age.  At least with all their parts in working order.

Jill and I have been thinking that maybe we should get another Lab in the line-up. 

I know.  You're probably thinking we're nuts.  Which is why this is presently in the discussion/thinking stage.

Nonetheless, a call to the breeder to check on the length of the waiting list might at least be in order.

It would be nice to hear the pitter patter of little feet on the porch next summer.

Speaking of the pitter pattering little feet.  Daughter and her husband have been visiting this week.

We're going to be grandparents.

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