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That Which Was Foretold Has Come To Pass

 


After some negotiation and exchange of words like "motheaten" and "raggedy", Farmwife talked me into enduring the roaching of my mane, which I had rubbed on the fence while reaching for delectable edibles at my previous home. We both agreed on four things:

1)  it was essential to retain my forelock, which is a thing of splendor that adds greatly to my dashing good looks. I'll get a picture for you tomorrow.

2) once the cut has grown out a bit, she will give me those fancy castle turrets that she used to style for Fenway. 

3) we owe our dear readers a better photo, when I have not just rolled in the mud. 

4) there is no hairstyle capable of making me look anything but marvelous. 

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