Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
-- Macbeth, Act 5, Scene 5
Slim and Franke
Friday, January 31, 2014
Slim (44 pounds) perches on my shoulder each evening to look out the window into the field. I can only guess that she is pretending she is a pirate's parrot and I am the Cap'n as we set sail in search of booty. Once she is through keepin a weathered eye open for bilge rats or mutiny, she retires to bed and I am free to attempt to rid myself of the crick in my neck.