Monday, 12 December 2011
Checkeed shirt, chickens, porch, rocking chair, searing heat, banjo-boy. We have three of these items, well on the way to the deep south. Oh, we're already in it.
Ezra after three weeks of owning the instrument, Keen!! and the voisinage are having a rest from full-on drum practice.
I was going to post a blog about Satie's leg, or rather his lack of leg. The runty one (Italian Greyhound) now has three legs, following two operations to try and salvage the front drivers side leg. Yes, amputation. The vet and I looked at each other sadly, and both said the word. There was no other solution.
We often, me and the hothouse residents, wonder what happened to the leg in question. Well, not often, that could be said to be. . . odd. It's sad to think of it alone in a bin somewhere in Carcassonne; maybe I should have brought it back and made a sculpture.
Enough. Instead of photo of Satie, tripodular runt, here is a nice picture of a crazed fountain in Bordeaux that Mark snapped. I was especially impressed by the water spray issuing from the horses nostrils, and the webbed/lions feet/hoof arrangements. Fab. As for those cavorting three, and a fish in the foreground . . . imagine the meeting when the sculptor had proposed this edifice. "You want to what? with how many horses? oh, all right then."
No money scrimped there; presumably they weren't teetering on world financial collapse at the time.
Hoorah for ostentaious wonderments.