It's St. Pat's Parade day again, and I've brushed out Preston and he's ready to roll. I have now marched in St. Pat's Parades with a Wolfhound at my side for a full decade, as we got Brock in 1999. I only missed one year with a Wolfie, 2007, because Brock had died and we didn't yet have Preston.
There is no dog on earth like an Irish Wolfhound.
I've got electric green eyeshadow and a green cowboy hat on. Last year, I was dressed as Mother Nature. This didn't feel like a costume year, though. Marty can't join us, and that makes me sad... but Ayla and I get to bond.
I wish Brenna had called me back and said she wanted to come (or not). I miss her, but right now she's decided she doesn't want to talk to me. It's hard, but that's life. She's only 20, and I just have to assume/pray that this will change down the road.
Green day. Hopefully this will be fun -- it's looking like it will be a perfect Denver day.
