Last weekend, Charlie and me were out walkin’ Scamp ‘round the neighborhood. The weather’s been nice, you know, and we’re tryin’ to take advantage of it as much as we can. Plus, this summer is already shapin’ up to be one eating opportunity after another, so we need to burn calories where we can. When you walk the same route like we do, you get to see the changes as they happen, which is fun. When the rhodies start to bloom, it’s an event, or when them stella d’oro daylilies burst yellow overnight. You head off early enough, and you see your neighbors sneakin’ out in their pj’s to get the paper or you smell …

An incident happened this weekend I’m not proud of. In fact, I’m a little embarrassed to share it with you. But hey, it’s just us, right? So, picture this: it’s late Sunday morning. Charlie’s snorin’ in his Barcalounger. Scamp’s with me in the kitchen, dozin’ on his doggie bed. I’m putterin’ around, minding my own business, when all of a sudden, I feel one comin’ on. You know what I mean. Nobody ‘cept the dog is near, so I just let ‘er rip: long, loud and unapologetic. A real twenty-one gun salute. “What’s that?” Charlie yelps, nearly fallin’ out of his chair. “Don’t know,” I yell. “Must be a car backfiring.” Could have been my …