In other news, it's real hot.

Tonight, while taking Bruiser for a walk. Which he was pleased to take:

Bruiser: (lagging. Perhaps: lollygagging. Or so it appears.)

Me: (gentle tug on the leash) C'mon Bruiser! Come on!

Bruiser: (reluctant trot, followed by immediate and deep interest in a shrubbery)

Me: Oh, COME on, Bruiser. (doubling back, my strategy to countermand my occasionally deep impulse to yank.)

Bruiser: (lifts his head. Pants.)

The historian: I know, big guy. I know.

Me: It's just going to be hot like this for awhile longer, Bruiser. And then it will gradually get better.

Bruiser: (the hell you say.)

Hot dog, taking simultaneous advantage of the tile floor and the swamp cooler downdraft.