How Tomatoes Are Evil And Cole Can Be A Dunce

I am no fan of tomatoes.  Never have been.  This year, they've done nothing to elevate my esteem.  From a dismal production this Summer to a bumper crop of green tomatoes in November.  That's what I call a sick sense of humor.

Thus forcing me to devote a couple of days to make green tomato chutney.

Cumulative total of 8 hours in the kitchen and closet full of chutney bottles, a girl's fancy soon turns to homicide.

With a bucket still leftover, why not take one's frustrations out with a little target practice?

...in order to be zen enough to fight with the tomato plants to evict them from their cages.

All hands on deck for this one.
Cole, always helpful...

..carried his leaf all the way to the compost pile.  My hero.
Garrett doesn't receive accolades for being highly perceptive.  

"Look Ma, you missed some."
Tomato debacle over, we get to focus on Captain Cole, again.
The day before Thanksgiving, the leg that has been operated on 3 times, the source of the cancer, the one without a lymphatic system, yeah that one -- it begins swelling.

Getting progressively worse on Thanksgiving Day, of course.  His type of cancer is associated with histamine reactions, so any allergic type of reaction or swelling needs to be silenced ASAP before the mast cells start reproducing like crazy.  Nothing from my pharmaceutical stash can quell it.  By Friday, I say %@#! it and run him to the vet school as an emergency.  
Not my first choice for a Friday night venue.  But, the hours passed thanks to my friend, Helene, and her lofty package of newspaper clippings. 

My favorite editorials are by this guy:

Serious topics with a flair of humor.  Who can't chuckle at pixie dust and unicorn flatulence?  
Tip of the hat to Helene for getting me through another rough patch.  Tip of the hat to the overworked AU emergency clinic.  Cole and I are still not on speaking terms.  He's having to wear to rigid cone of shame to prevent self trauma. No fun for any of us, he takes out knee caps when running by.

Or the back of one's head.  He's an equal opportunity maimer. 
The days at work this past week have been long, trying to get the winter wheat planted before the rain arrives, long lists of chores, Cole, Cole again, horses, Axel colicking.  Never ends, thankfully, otherwise I'd be bored.  But, my wish for next week is one where I can walk around like Pete...

.. without a care in the world and snug as a bug in a cardigan.