State of Dog: 85

Really. Turn the thermostat to a higher digit, already.

Come on, Julie!

Though I feel rather hip and super-styling with my orange hoodie complete with a pocket where Julie stows those compost-able poop-pick-up-gloves, I do like laying around the house with nothing on but my collar. Those green lavender stinky poop-pick-up gloves she wears are not the shape of her hands at all but sort of a rectangular shape, a bland and blocky shape. Still, she sticks her hand in one and makes a pinched look when wrapping her hand around my warm waste.  As least it is warm. Those green thingys are a rather a poor human hand-fitting design.

Well, Julie likes to keep the thermostat set at 14 degrees Celsius. It is fresh in here and often a window is open so I can smell where the squirrels and chipmunks are located.  Recently, there was a faint scent of cat.  I digress. I think it is time to blast that furnace to at least 16 degrees Celsius so I can get . . . you know. . . robeless.

Oh, you are asking about the stretchy-clingy-thingy wrapping my leg?

My spacial acuity is usually precise and global, and I can calculate thrust, g-forces, elevations, and distances between elements of my world with wild exactitudiness (yes, its a great word that I just made up). When leaping around the structures at daycare recently, I was distracted as I jumped from one boulder to another resulting in just a minor cut on my leg.

I gave the other guy some schooling to respect their elders, especially when those elders are airborne.