Sunday come to call

I have read in books that Sunday once was a day for calling...on your neighbors, family, friends.  And doesn't that sound lovely, a world where Sunday means socializing? I do love my Sundays, but mostly they are spent becoming one with my house through the generosity of Mrs. Meyer's cleaning products.

Today was not so different, except I did have a few visitors come to call.  Foremost, my sissy and I sat at the kitchen table for a good hour over Italian sodas. That just did my heart good.
 

But she is not the only one who came to call.  A dapper fellow in a black and white suit and a dashing red cap fluttered into my world and banged quite noisily -- not on the door, but on the tree. (I know, he is hard to see, but you must admit that red cap is quite the eye-catcher.) When I tried to get a little bit closer, he took a fright and headed for another oak. But as he did, who should I spy?

This slinky neighborhood lady, who belongs to no one but herself, and stealthily wanders the neighborhood acreage. I call her Inky. (There have been perhaps dozens of Inkys in the years I've lived here, or there could be just one. With at least nine lives. She is quite resourceful, that Inky. And leery of all things human. So I was quite honored she stopped by and stared. And stared some more.)

But that is not all, folks, that is not all at all!  Just as the afternoon sun was high in the sky, I heard my new neighbor making quite a ruckus. You might even say he was braying.

Meet Bandit.  My new neighbor donkey. Isn't he just the sweetest???

And the best news is I get to visit with him any day of the week, not just Sunday. I think we will become great friends.