House sitting is a tricky task. On one hand, it’s flattering when someone grants unrestricted access to their belongings for an extended period. Watching someone else’s stuff is also a low effort activity; the biggest problem being an abrupt change in a routine. Soon enough, though, one gets into the temporary digs.

A wicked devil lies in the fine print, however. In this case, the two Satan’s in waiting: aged foxhounds with thimble sized bladders and a bark that wake the dead. Like for instance, myself at four in the morning.

After freezing in the snow at four AM for the past ten days, I must report a major advantage of the cat species is their mastery of a litter box. If only dogs were so equipped.

I did enjoy quite a bit of that new invention they call digital cable ( I don’t own a television – a story for another entry ). Even with a selection of one hundred and seventy-five channels, there was always something on, yet so very little to watch. Oh how jaded the twenty-first century viewer has become. Despite this, I found it hard to look away from the glowing screen hour after hour.