#acpc angus

Even after looking it up, I could not find evidence that “crobbling” is even a recognized English word, let alone an old expression from when Angus was a kid. I have to assume that Angus grew up in an area where words were made up! It was a lawless land! Language meant nothing! And still means nothing!

Okay, fine, I guess, but come on. I just assumed that the one thing two cows would be able to bond over was their shared love of roast turkey.

He actually has more visible fingers (two) than I do (zero).

Angus enjoying the elegant fountain. He’s impressed by the roses and how Cyrus managed to... make... them. Cyrus is a talented rosemaker. I’m 100% sure that’s the word for a man who makes roses.

What Angus doesn’t seem to fully appreciate is that, at this campsite, there is always someone at the river and always someone at the beach, and I pop in at least six times a day to fish and hand chat and pick fruit. So, around here, at least, there are no folks whatsoever who stay home because it’s cold. They just stay home because there’s only room for one animal at a time, for some reason.

Man, I was really hoping he’d stick to his guns on this one and proudly proclaim his love of the stump! I’ve mentioned before my happy memories of the stump chair that my granddad made that he had set up on his porch. It was treated! No splinters! You can make that happen if you put in a little bit of work!