The temperature clawed its way up to around 50 this afternoon, so I Windexed the filthy glass top on the porch table and we sat with the dogs for a spell.
That’s my glass of Indiana-grown Red Gold tomato juice on the table, seconds before Jack lurched to his left and put his lips on the rim. I drank the rest of it from the other side of the glass.
Presently, we went out into the yard where I filled the dogs’ watering tub with 
And then I noticed what Jack and Sam had done to a couple of crepe myrtle bushes Maria planted last year outside our bedroom windows.
I posed Jack next to one of them (what’s left is in the red box) but he clearly has no remorse.
But then maybe it was Sam who ravaged the poor bushes just to have a stick to chew.
We’re guardedly optimistic that the bushes will revive in the spring, especially if we put tomato cages around them.
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