screech, not hoot

Owls, that is. In our neighborhood. A wise, elderly neighbor said they're not technically screech owls, but they sure do screech. In case you don't know, I hate birds. OK, a soaring bald eagle over the Rockies is fine, but little flitty birds, pigeons, birds in cages, and many others repulse me. I despise the ducks and geese at our local lake. I am a peace-loving woman, but I swear I want to shoot those bad boys with a BB gun when they hiss at me.

I'm not sure how I feel about owls. They are spooky, beautiful, ominous, and so unusual that I can't help but be intrigued. At the same time, they scare me to death. I took this photo through the screen in my bedroom window, because, quite frankly, I was scared he would fly at my head if I opened it fully. What if that owl got in my house?



Eric even set up his tripod and video camera tonight to get some footage of them. They are the talk of our street.

On another tangent, my best friend Brittain treated me to a pedicure, followed by a matinee showing of Sicko and a sushi dinner. What a great day spent together. She and I were convinced that the people doing our pedicures, who spoke Chinese to each other the whole time, were discussing how disgusting our feet were. Here they are, post treatment.



And here's a simple shot of our big girl in the bathtub. These days, she has to do EVERYTHING all by herself, including rinsing her hair like this.



That's it from here. Good night!