The Puppy Frolic

God, that second-to-last picture just slays me. Look at those jowls flap! 
Del has been having a pretty good summer. He's enriched our life so much-- even when he wants to hang out by the kitchen window and watch squirrels while I am trying to get dinner made and beans blanched and zucchini shredded, all at once-- I remember this. After dinner is play time. Play time is Patrick's domain, because, call me a wuss, but I find even a very gentle and loving dog like Del scary in play mode. He snarls and huffs (at the toy, not at us) and jumps up with his very big toothy mouth fully engaged. He makes himself as wild and wolf-like as possible, for about three minutes, before he's spent his playtime energy for the day and goes back to his preferred armchair. I stand back and grin from ear-to-ear.
Such a good boy.
August is shaping up to be pretty busy for Patrick, which is good, because it's shaping up to be canning time for me. It's incredible-- and admittedly slightly baffling to me-- that I get nostalgic for the sight and smell of simmering-down tomato sauce. But I do. It'll be awhile before I'm canning garden tomatoes, as they're finally starting to blush, bit by bit-- but of course, once you pick that first ripe one off a plant, the rest of the cluster seems to ripen overnight. 
In addition to tomato sauce, paste, puree, bloody mary mix, salsa, and stewed tomatoes (phew!), I want to can a ton of bread and butter pickles, escabeche, hot sauce, roasted red peppers, and veggie stock. So I'm a little impatient to get going here, a little over-eager for chilly fall nights home alone canning and listening to Radio Lab. Man. How funny that that is my idea of a good time. Someone should make an introvert meme like this for canners.

I'd love to hang out, but I have to go sit in my house and can things...
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