Last night, while making dinner, I said to Carey that I didn't like the way fall made me feel this year. Like the end of something, and a sign that as HBO taught us to say, "winter is coming." But this morning, walking the dog in the 48-degree weather wearing a wool sweater and a vest, my mood improved immensely. Until Yeager took a second dump right on a neighbor's driveway. I had already filled my single poop bag and left it by a tree to pick up on the way back home. Don't worry -- the feces was still there as I drove by on my way to work, so I turned on the flashers and wiped it off the blacktop.
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