Last night, we took our dinner plans downtown and again found that the Earle's outside tables are the best seat if what you want is sunset action. Yes, I said "sunset" in the context of Ann Arbor. We do have 'em, here in the midwest, although they tend toward pastels and not the flaming pallettes of seaside venues. And since it's a block off Main and doesn't specialize in huge plates of medium-competent tourist food, like most of the Main Street Ventures shoppes, you can usually get a seat, more or less on demand.
So we ate, and my meal included half a dozen frenched lamb chops, the bones of which I requested "to go" for a certain Shepherd who'd had a hard day -- jumped unexpectedly by a traumatized grayhound. No damage except to Coney's ego, I suspect. Anyway, we took the bones home to the Eastside, presented her with one, and -- and then, what DID we do with the rest of them? Whatever it was, it wasn't secure, since the box appeared on the floor at bedtime, autoclave cleaned of every last organic molecule, no bones to be found. Oh, well. Stealth dog. We knew that. No osteoporesis for her, she's getting her calcium.
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