So I open the door tonight, and staring back at me is this gigantic black/white pit bull. All these pit bull horror stories run through my head - am I about to be on a future episode of When Animals Attack? Yeah. My dog Pepper is out there, so I go out to make sure she's okay, figure out where this guy came from, and thus it begins. He attempted what I can only call a drop kick on me, tearing my shirt, and pinned Pepper to the ground. I pried him with a shovel and tossed him (as much as you can toss a pit bull) into the pen Pepper vacated a while back.
I called the pound and they came and got him ("Do you think I can handle him?" the lady asks me - "Isn't that your job?" I said) and all is well. Except my shirt is torn, and Pepper looks a year older.
I went to lunch with Ben today, and that was fun. We talked some about his week in IC writing, and we swapped action figures, because we know no shame. Ben also found the funniest thing I've seen in a long while:
More ROTS, lost in translations.
I decided to take the night off from writing, because my arm hurts like hell, and I'm just kind of tuckered out from ol' Millie. That sounded bad. I need to get back to the revisions on the Angel Book, but I'm at a loss in certain areas. I need research info on life for average joes in 14th century rural Ireland, and nothing I'm finding is doing the trick for me. It's not holding up the book, I actually made a substantial realization about just WHAT IS GOING ON (Sugu I think wanted this more obvious in the first draft; I left it vague because like with first dates, in first drafts, I like to play coy). I'll do some thinking and reading and hopefully get back to this in a major way in the next few days.