This was going to be something else...

I was going to write about the Misty and Spad Forward Air Controllers in Vietnam this morning. Not because it relates to the chase, but because it reminds me there are still heroes in the world that don't belong to S.H.I.E.L.D.

And because it's 5:30 on a Monday morning and my brain is still swimming in a miry swamp of sleep-fog.

So, anyway, Jamie was in rare form last night, texting all kinds of craziness about watches and good luck charms and apartments and animal crackers and some other stuff that left me scratching my head and saying, "I don't have a clue what you're talking about." She's the fastest texter I know. I'll start typing one sentence, and before I can even hit send, she's psychically anticipated what I'm about to say and ELEVEN reply bubbles pop up on my screen.

Anyway, she texted something about her dog barking at a mean neighbor and digging up a bone. Apparently, Jamie didn't like Hartman digging up that particular bone, and she wanted him to help her rebury it. So she pulled out two spades, and gave Hartman the option of picking which one he wanted--the nifty black one, or the tiny plain silver one:

So, by the look Hartman is giving Jamie, it's obvious he wants her to choose first. What a polite dog! But Jamie is polite, too, and insisted that Hartman pick first. Hartman wasn't playing that game and Jamie describes this as his "just looking out the window" expression:

Hartman is as much of a character as Jamie is. I like that dog. And Jamie.

As I was falling asleep, I vaguely heard multiple beeps on my phone, but was too tired to check until this morning. It was nice to wake up with a laugh. Jamie sent me a couple more pics of Hartman. This is Hartman's "Are you reading that book AGAIN?" face. I get the same look from my kids when I pick up my tattered copy of TTOTC.

And this picture may be the best dog photobomb ever. I couldn't contain my laughter when I saw this:

And I can't post pics of someone else's dog without posting pics of mine. This is Monet the other night when I was trying to relax in the bath. She either wanted to come in with me, or she was trying to tell me to get out and get her a treat. I'm pretty sure she wanted the treat.

Then, if I so much as talk to Monet, the cat has to get in on the action. I'm not really a cat person, so I don't know why this cat has to practically step on my heels everywhere I go.

Monet couldn't stand it. But the cat is bigger than she is, so she doesn't mess with him too much. Instead, she just takes a spot a little further down.

Oh, and that cat may be the must ungraceful cat to ever walk the Earth. There's a 50/50 chance that when he takes that spot on the side of the tub, he'll fall in the water with me. And that isn't a funny thing, unless you think a whirling helicopter of razor sharp claws in hot water gouging your naked flesh and getting your book or iPad all wet is funny.

I'm sure some of you think it's hilarious.