Silly me. I'd made a big pot of chili, since we'd had cooler weather with all our weekend rain. There for a while, the Dog Days of Summer had really been wearing on me. Temps in the low 90s, with high humidity, made my scalp sweat like Farmer H eating a combo platter of hot wings and Hunan chicken.
Even inside, conditions have not been pleasant. The Devil's Playground was so hot the other day that perspiration shooting from my pores could have misted the vegetables on the produce aisle. Whatcha gonna do, though...it IS The Devil's Playground.
Anyhoo...it looks like the Dog Days of Summer have officially been over for a few weeks, according to my estranged BFF Google. Apparently, Jack and Juno didn't get the memo. They were panting like crazy. I don't think I've seen them this hot in quite a while. Temps were around 75, but the humidity was oppressive. And those fleabags were wearing fur coats!
Jack followed T-Hoe into the garage. He does that sometimes, and trots under A-Cad, and around the old cat house (a pink foam-board structure passed down from my best ol' ex-teaching buddy Mabel when her cat died of old age), sniffing for Dusty, our cat who hates him. She stays outside, though, crouched under the shelves on the side porch, and Jack never finds her in the garage. Which doesn't keep him from hoping.
As I rounded the back of T-Hoe, grocery bags in hand, I saw Jack stretched out on the concrete floor between the cars. He NEVER doesn't that! He was panting so hard that a pool of saliva had formed in front of his chest, and his tongue was flapped out the side of his lower jaw. I'm guessing that the cool floor felt as good to his short-haired belly as the lid of the toilet seat feels on my bare back when I lean back in the midst of changing into my dark basement lair-wear.
I'm shocked that Jack didn't run around for a dip in the fake fish pond, but I guess he was worried about missing a treat.