Tiny Terror

Who me?

 Baby gets ready to cut loose

She looks so sweet and innocent and she's just a little bit of a thing. But make no mistake, the Baby can be a tiny terror when she's juiced up on catmint and I grow a lot of it. She loves to roll around in it and stretch out in long, luxurious ballet like moves. Just when it appears that she is dozing off, she jumps up and with a startled look on her face, goes into a full blown Tasmanian Devil dervish before making a mad dash into the woods.

Okay, so she loses her cool, but I have to give this little girl props for the way she minds her p's and q's around the wild turkeys even in what appears to be a hallucinogenic state. If she's zigging in one direction as she's heading for the woods and sees the turkeys straight ahead, she makes an immediate zag in the other direction. I swear she has a tape of my voice playing in her head: No bothering the turkeys. No, no, no.

I'm very proud of her. 

This month the Baby and her sister Daisy turn ten years old. And while I celebrate them, that milestone reminds me that this is the third September I have been without my Rachmaninoff.  I miss him.