Scratcher of heads, rubber of bellies
I’ve warned Emma to stay out of the coneflower. Oh how I’ve warned her! Time and again I told of how they’d lure her in, let her drink in their beauty, then attack when she let her guard down. But did she listen to me? No she didn’t. Some lessons you have to learn the hard way.
Sam emerged from playing in the raspberries and froze. He felt her eyes upon him, but from where? Then he saw her, the dark shadow under the rose bushes.
“Does she mean to attack me?”
She does. And she did.
Emma’s been complaining that I’ve posted too many aggressive pictures of her, baring her teeth or mauling feathered toys or rough-housing with Sam. So here’s a picture of her planting a kiss on Scout.
Boolie 