This past weekend, while my husband and daughter walked to Delilah Bakery, I went yard-saling with my dog and ended up with the following tossed into the backseat of my car: A candle sconce from Mexico, a picture frame, a paper umbrella, a paperback copy of Women in Love (only to discover later I already owned a copy), Baby Gap PJs for a 3-year-old, a metal thing with floral elements and no obvious purpose. The Things She Drove Around. At one group sale a woman -- who turned out to be Rochelle of Park Drive -- called out: "Do you write the blog?" She sounded friendly, so I admitted it, why, yes (feathers a-flutter), that's me.
"I recognize your dog. Not even your dog. I recognize your dog's nose."
I looked down at Rosie. Yes, that was her own nose she was wearing, just as she does in the photograph above. She was standing on some of the baby clothes that had been carefully folded and laid out.
Rosie, you're famous.
Speaking of dogs, this just in from a member of the Echo Park Animal Alliance, where discussion has turned to protecting our pets from fireworks trauma (some people suggest loud noise indoors as an aural antidote to the bombs exploding outside):
We found loud punk rock or heavy metal works really well (that is if your dog is accustomed to hearing it). We played White Zombie a few years back Ė worked like a charm. The dog didnít even notice the fireworks once we put that CD on; fell asleep immediately.
Maybe Rosie will like the Arctic Monkeys. Or My Bloody Valentine.