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I sat down to write a blog post, but Henry says I have to hold one end of a deer antler while he chews the other. So I'm typing this with one hand, and that's all the post you're going to get today.

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I drew this with my left hand!

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I'm teaching Henry to appreciate sunsets.

It's a work in progress. He still prefers squirrels.

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And the first dog to bite me in 2022 is not the puppy but Dad's Rambo. Admittedly, it was partially my fault for having the temerity to attempt drying off his back legs after a long walk on a damp afternoon. He was probably sore. He *is* 12 years old.

I could be mad, I suppose. He bit down hard, leaving pretty good puncture wounds on both sides of my right forearm. It certainly hurts. (Honestly, it hurts a lot.)

I wish he had politely said, "please don't do that, it hurts," but he's never been much for manners. Dad did name him Rambo for a reason. The warning is in the name.

But there's no point in kicking the dog, literally or figuratively. What's done is done: lesson learned, muzzle ordered. And frankly, given the choice, I'd rather have a dog bite puncture wound than COVID.

That said, it's not the great start to 2022 I was hoping for. (And I sure hope it didn't give Henry any ideas!)

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I think it's safe to say that Henry enjoyed his first Christmas.

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The view of the sky on the way home from Henry's first vet visit:

(Ok, not actually his first visit. We know he'd seen a vet at least twice before he came to me: once for theoretical puppy shots and once to stitch up a hole in his gums where he chewed on a fishing lure and got dragged around the yard on the line by a cruel golden retriever. But those vet records were contradictory and confusing, and it's not entirely clear what shots he did or did not get. So my vet started over at the beginning. Henry didn't seem to mind.)

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