On Monday morning, Louie and I both came down with the stomach flu of
pure evil. I'm talking the kind where we're fighting over the bathroom,
and I don't mean for a nice relaxing dip in the tub. My symptoms
subsided enough for me to return to work yesterday, but the nasty little
bug hung around Louie and he had to stay home. And what does he get?
Calls, calls galore. The mortgage people reminding him it's the 15th,
and would he like to do a check by phone now? The Buffalo Bills, trying
to get him to take season tickets for next year. God alone knew how many
charities, or people pretending to be charities. After about ten of
these, Louie slammed the receiver down and cussed the air blue. Called
the phone everything but a green piece of plastic and howled that the
Amish have the right idea after all.

Now our babies have been good little soldiers throughout all this,
keeping up a sort of guard duty by the bedroom door with Brandy acting
as Morale Officer, crawling all over us and purring and licking us.
Stosh was pulling the watch at this point. Louie told me he watched our
little Juvie walk right up to the wall and pull the phone cord right out
of the jack! If we can train him to do it when the Mutha-in-law calls,
we'd be onto something.

Blessed be,
Baha