Guard dogs

Hi kids!

Here's a picture of me hanging out with the guard dogs on my temporary
estate here on Grand Bahama Island as arranged by Bernie the New
Jersey car dealer. We are out by the hot tub. The pool is in the
background. We are generally laying low and trying not to blow this
deal at least until the wind storm predicted for Monday and Tuesday
blows over and my rib knits.

Angel Jen is hanging out on the boat. She claimed to be cleaning but
the last time I went down below she was napping. Then the next time I
came back she was lying in the cabin reading a book.

"Angel Jen!" I said. "Stay true to your roots! Good Protestant
Camptown women are proud of their hard working natures!"

"Mañana! It's island time, mon!"

Old Angel Jen's hardscrabble roots are softening in the Caribbean sun.
Now I guess it's up to me.

And for the jolly young linguists and dialecticians in the class,
around here it's Ca-RIB-ee-un, not Ca-ri-BEE-an. I can't speak for the
other islands but that's what the Bahamians say.

So be good kids. Be mindful of the teacher and reflect on the fact
that two guard dogs will sell out their duty for a handful of ham
cubes, another handful of cheddar cheese and some long sought after
affection. These two man killers are now my friends.