Day One Thousand Four Hundred and Thirty Seven

We had a very quiet day.

Zita had to take Craig's mother to the other hospital this morning. Even before our toasts.

She fell all down. Maybe she hurt her foot. It is way fat today. Oh dear. 

The hospital had to take those just all inside you pictures. 

I had pictures like that. When I had my sore foot operation. In my nice hospital. Good for me. 

Her foot was not even a bit broken. So Zita came home to house for her lunch. That is good.

It is a way too hot day. Again.

We only played catch the ball a bit. That was good. I was too hot. 

Craig put the make the house just nice and cool machine on. For my friend Emmet and me.

Niamh and I went for a very little walk. When she was all fast awake. 

I did not want to go so far. I was too hot. Ha. 

We just peeked around my corner. Then we came home. That was good. 

Then Niamh went all the way downtown. 

To take her wrong clothes back to a store. On the smelly bus. In the way too hot. Oh dear. 

Emmet did not go for his walk. Because of the too hot day. 

He was just in the scary basement. In his comfy big room. Studying for his last remember everything exam.

He made lots of Irish tea. Ha.

Niamh has her last remember everything exam at the dance a lot school tomorrow. That is good. 

She has to write a poem. Just her own. By herself. That is good. 

Niamh writes way good poems. They are not just all sad. That is good. 

There are too many sad poems. It is known. 

There are beautiful poems all about nice brave dogs. Sometimes Craig reads them to me. That is good. Those are good poems. It is known. 

It is our friend Mister George's sing happy birthday day. He has dogs too. On his not so very far away farm. And a cat. Oh well. 

Cats never give people secret presents. Only nice dogs do that. Ha.