Warm weather and this writer’s writing don’t go well together. It’s not because I am skipping along in the breezes off the Mississippi River (mainly due to people staying off the levees due to high water) or because I am off to an exotic beach (although I plan to do that).

My reason? The dogs keep wanting to go out, and then in, and then out, and then in, and then out. You get the picture. Then, they shed, tossing the thin white threads of their existence throughout the house. It’s impossible to write when you see all of the dog hair bunnies riding the currents of the air conditioning system.

I’m slightly impaired today. I wrenched my left shoulder, and the unhappy muscles are cramping. That whole arm feels heavy, which makes typing an interesting endeavor. I’ve trimmed my writing time to 20 minute sprints followed by stretching so that the shoulder doesn’t get worse.

The oversized Bichon Frise

The other impairment is my dog’s head. It’s on my lap, her nose just fits between the laptop and my torso. It’s growing warmer in New Orleans, so I assumed the dog wouldn’t snuggle quite so closely. Apparently to her, the snuggling is worth the price of extra heat. After a few minutes, her head grows heavy and I want to shift her. I don’t, though. The other alternative is that she shoves her snout against my leg and snores. That is much more distracting.

(In other news, SammyJo won a copy of my short story. I’ve emailed her. Wheee! Free stuff. Gotta love that.)

My oversized Bichon Frise

Please meet one of my shepherd mixes (or the foot of), Idaho, also known as an oversized Bichon Frise. I’ve got two shepherd mixes, and when we added the newest one, we decided to drop the money on those genetic tests to determine the breeds contained in your mutt.

One test, for the dog adopted from a White German Shepherd rescue group, came back as we thought: German Shepherd for most of her DNA, husky, poodle, and Saluki for the rest. Weird, but not crazy.

The other test really surprised us: Idaho is apparently half Bichon Frise. My 75 pound dog who thinks that she must touch you for 20 out of 24 hours is apparently a lap dog.

Since that test, we have a new joke. Hence, the category on this blog. Ida is crazy, and often gets her foot or nose onto my lap as I am writing a story. You’ll probably see plenty of cell phone photos much like this.