On the recommendation of Miss Snark who noted my token membership in that small, yet incandescent club of fabulists, I asked my local library to bring in The Intuitionist, by Colson Whitehead.

Why not simply buy it? If I like it as much as I expect to, I surely will-- but for some odd reason I take great pleasure in the inter-library loan process. Particularly, I like getting the call that says, "your book is here." Perhaps it harkens to the thrill of the hunt. Perhaps I appreciate any excuse that gets me to the library. Perhaps it is in my nature to make simple actions baroque.

In any event, I'm thrilled to have the volume in hand. I have taken the day off from work and plan to burrow into a good read--after running a few errands, bien entendu. I don't get to take a day off for no reason-- there are sinks to pick up, bathtubs to choose and hardware to argue over. But after all that, I'm reveling in this glorious weekend.

And the dogs?

Well, this is Gunther.

He belongs to Keith who is here finishing the sheetrock (bless you, Keith!) and the boys are naturally very excited to have a playdate. If you aren't familiar with doggy playdates, the rituals are pretty straight-forward.

First, there's the meet and greet.

Then we have the traditional ball-licking ceremony.

Although not everyone gets to participate in the event. (Sorry Henry).

After a few poses for the cover of their next cd--

They ramble off.

Under close, CLOSE supervision, of course!

got 2 cents?