the voxer who burns my toast

Go to my neighborhood and you’ll see a cute Russell terrier. The Russell behind the dog is the Russ I talk about on my blog and who sometimes talks back. 

He only got a vox account so he could write me and wasn’t too happy when I set up his blog (I did his blog because I just finished setting up mine and I knew he didn’t want to be bothered with it) to look, what he thought, was not the most ‘masculine’ of blogs, but he’s all right with it now.

He likes old movies and literature classics, nothing wrong with that. I like horror and indie movies and non-fiction on the strange and mysterious, nothing wrong with that either. He likes Myrna Loy and so what if I only get off on Myrna Loy if she turned into the living dead, you can’t have the world…

It’s not going to be lost on you the contrast between our blogs and how much we come off as different, but don’t let his blog fool you, he’s a boiling pot of all man meat without a pinch of sissy, just the way I like ‘em. He loves animals and babies love him, is faithful, sometimes possessive (works for me), and like a hydra-headed beast guarding the mythical golden fleece, you have to go through him to get to me. I don’t have his book or street smarts, but I have wise council, intuition and I can summon dark powers (kidding). I make him laugh, and he would lay down his life for me, THAT I truly know.

In my life, he always seemed there, and before him? I have no memory on purpose. He’s my only vox neighbor who wakes me up with a kiss and bacon, eggs over easy.