...but our two, Gracie and Rosco, and visiting cousin Ike, have by their attitudes been most convincingly making a case for the Dog Days of August being upon us, not only falling out in the living room, but adorning the wooden floors with sizable spatters of drool.
Who am I to gainsay them? It is, after all, not the "Dean Days of August," and when it comes to weather, we've learned to trust them, especially Gracie.
The old gal can sense thunder while its still over Babylon, and has secured herself beneath our bed 20 minutes before any lightning flashes alert us.
If it doesn't get any worst than this, I'm jake with that.