Why Don't We Live in Michigan?, or Nice Hair, Andy

We spent this past weekend up in Andy's old stomping grounds. A good friend of his from high school got married, reaffirming (as if such reaffirmation were necessary) that we are indeed at the "marrying age." Darn, we're getting old fast.

Though the entire weekend was lovely, and dotted with the occasional adventure (wind+water+clouds-warm clothing = chilly Katie on her first sail), we particularly enjoyed our day on Saturday. Friends of Andy have a boat and we spent the day "wandering" from lake to lake, swimming, skiing, tubing and wakeboarding. Tough life. I know.

A self-proclaimed Mainer to the core, I have to admit a growing fondness for and enjoyment of Northern Michigan. Not sure I'd trade it for a nice spot on the coast of Maine, but it's a pretty special place nonetheless.

They're Multiplying

Before anyone flies into a panic, don't worry, the greyhound resting peacefully in the crate is not our dog, but a foster dog that we took care of this weekend while his long term foster parents were returning from vacation. His name is "Rollins" and we literally picked him up straight off the hauler from Daytona Beach, FL. Unlike Harry, who spent almost two months with his foster mom before we came along, Rollins was totally new to home life. We're pleased to report that he adapted quite well in the short time that he stayed with us. No accidents in the house, minimal whining and barking, and quick to learn. We've signed up to be "Emergency Fosters" with our adoption group, so we'll be watching foster dogs occasionally for shorter periods of time while the long term foster is out of town or unavailable.


Unlike our calm, sensitive Harry, Rollins is a real goofball. He's demonstrating the infamous greyhound lounging position, called "roaching," above. Harry's not a roacher, so Andy and I got a real kick out of it.
These dogs are so sweet and wonderful. We just can't resist the opportunity to help them in whatever way we can.