The new habitat is a triple-decker of a beast, looking down on a town best known for losing its leaves and marketing fancy household impedimenta to unwary touristhropoids.
Half of Harlot House (the half that isn't made of steel girders and corrugated iron) is made of glass, through which yours truly, who had had vague notions of nosing the grindstone while she was away, gazed incessantly either at pines
or at these guys, which, for want of more precise botanical descriptors, we'll call "trees".
Harlot House is, of course, home to Wilbur the Wonderdog, whom we see here in a rare moment of activity. He has been spending his days mostly lying on the deck, rehearsing for his future career as a solar panel. He has also been contributing enormously to the gross detached dog-hair product of Bright. It is my belief that a town that thrives by selling homemade tomato relish could easily achieve significant exports in humanely gleaned organic beagle hair.
Indeed, here is the perfect facility at nearby Wangaratta station for storing beagle hair on a commercial scale.
And speaking of scaling, here's a typical sample of Mount Buffalo, as scaled by moi, Bernhilde, Wool Spaniel & co.
We are the champignons.
Here endeth the essay. More soon on Adventures with Plasma Tellies.
10 comments:
What a beautiful house! What a beautiful dog! I'm sure Wilbur must have been delighted when he spotted all that decking your loved ones have provided for his exclusive use.
And forgive me for I am dopey at this time of night after going to the gym, but Brunhilde is not a person, is she?
Er, I mean Bernhilde!
(Told you I was dopey!).
Bernhilde not a person???! Good Golly Miss Molly! I can attest that Bernhilde shows all of the features of being a person, though I have an idea that perhaps some otherworldy source may lie behind her exceptionally good humour, cheerfulness, kindness, and amazing capacities to entertain and amuse the Wool Spaniel litter of pups. She tells a cracking good anecdote, too.
Oops! My humblest apologies to Bernhilde!
No need for 'pologies, K. Bernhilde will survive. She's a dear friend of Sydneian provenance, who came along on the grand expedition into deepest darkest north-eastern Victoria.
Exclamations in favour of the beautiful dog are all very welcome.
As Alistair from As Time Goes By said to Jean, probably with a glowering Lionel standing on the sidelines, "Woof woof, baby!"
I wouldn't go so far as beagle husbandry, though.
Indeed beagles are such fine-looking dogs that it is a wonder that one does not see more of them about, although I suppose this shortage allows one to better appreciate the small miracle that is each individual beagle.
Or the rotund miracle with a leg on each corner, as in the case of Wilberforce.
Tim: not that kind of husbandry.
Wilbur is not of slight appetite? He carries his stature well, from the evidence of the photographs. All the beasties in my life are rather rotund too and I'm always getting into trouble with the veterinarian sister about it.
Not of slight appetite, no. The limits of his appetite remain untested. Occasionally he goes on diets, but someone sees his meagre rations and compensates with oddments of toast, etc.
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