Digging

My dog is a digger, although I am trying to cure her of this tendency. There's one spot in the back yard that I'm pretty sure she's digging to China. As you know, if she succeeds, I'm going with her. Now we have five or so inches of fresh snow on the ground so she's digging through that. She throws her whole head in it. When I'm having a hot flash, I'm tempted to do the same.

I'm a good digger. (Please forgive the ego stroke.) Growing up, I never realized that I was a nerdy person. Yes, I liked school and had an abnormal affection for libraries. But I liked other stuff too. I choose to believe I was well-rounded.

I am rarely without a dictionary. I LOVE research. If I'm curious about anything, I will dig it up. The Internet and many search engines make me giddy.

The other day a friend was looking for a particular speech. Her husband wants to share it with their grandson. With undue bravado, I said, "I can find it." (My mother gave me the "You are crazy" look.) She should know by now that I love a challenge.

I like digging for useful information because I spend most of my days digging a hole for myself with my sassy mouth. Usually with the oldies.