Woe is Wynonna

It snowed here again yesterday, and it was cold and windy and miserable,

probably much like it is in your neck of the woods.

Wynonna emerged from her pigloo an hour before the appointed dinner hour. 

Good thing, too, because if I hadn't taken these pictures of her through the windows,

there wouldn't be a blog post today.

I spied her walking down the path to the front porch. 

Perhaps she thought her effort would be rewarded with an early supper.

Smooch: I hear you knocking, but you can't come in.

Wynonna: Bitch.

Undeterred, she made her way to the back door, where she typically waits for me in the morning.

Wynonna: Who am I kidding? She won't get her butt out here until it's time to feed those beasts in the barn.

Wynonna: Might as well try the front door again. Maybe that uppity dog will let me in this time.

Wynonna: That ditch is around here somewhere. I'll probably sink and get stuck. 

That will teach her. Then she'll have to run out and save me.

  The princess knows exactly how to push my buttons.

Excuse me. I have to go feed a pig.