Last week — or maybe two weeks ago, it all has become very hazy really, that immediate passage of time thing — Julia and I walked up the hill to see an open house jointly hosted by Jenkintown’s fire companies.
(Yes, a town exactly one square mile in area has two fire companies because, as it turns out, Catholic houses burn too)
We took a few pictures, but I really don’t have the time to post them all at once, so here is a new friend (with a cameo by Julia’s thumb) that we met at the town square. His name is Rocket
Rocket was named rocket because he, as a puppy, ate a rocket. A toy rocket, mind you, not an Estes model or anything.
That’s a charming naming convention that, if applied universally, would have disastrous consequences. Puppies named Coffee Grounds, Used Condom and Own Shit would flood the borough.
Thankfully, our citizens have some sense of restraint and don’t use those names in public.