Well, it has been some time since an addition was made to the collective nouns series, so I thought it high time. And falling lambs seemed like suitable springtime fare…

So, we’re still waiting for summer here on the good old west coast. Curses and threats have proven useless, so it’s time to call in the big guns…

(click for larger image)

Last summer a friend went camping on his own, not far outside Vancouver. He was just falling asleep in his tent, enjoying the peaceful solitude, when he heard movement outside. The movement grew louder and louder, and he heard what he described as “branches snapping, as opposed to twigs”. Knowing he would never manage to sleep in the tent for his visions of being surrounded by bears, he waited until the noise moved on, and bolted to the car. He managed to fall asleep once inside, but only after locking all the doors so he didn’t have to worry about them being opened from the outside. Little did he know…

Last year I was in Miami for a conference, and afterward I rented a car for a few days and drove down to the Keys. I had been wanting to go there for years; it was the stuff of Jimmy Buffett songs and Carl Hiaasen novels. It’s too bad that Key West is so heavily touristified, but the Bahamian Village gives a pretty good indication of what it once was. It’s fabulous. There are roosters running in the streets—you can never go wrong with roosters running in the streets.

I stayed in the Bahamian Village in a guest house called the Angelina, which was a once a bordello, and now houses the most fabulous pool ever. Not because it’s particularly large, which it’s not, or particularly beautiful, which it also is not—but because it is open for swimming any time, and if you float on your back in the pool at night when it’s dark, you can watch the stars through a perfectly round opening in the palm trees that surround the pool. It’s like looking up through a hole in a ceiling, while the warm wind rustles the palm fronds and the stars shine incredibly brightly in a pitch black sky.

Heaven.

This is the view of the back of the guest house, drawn while eating breakfast on the far side of the pool. One of the resident cats took up in the lounger next to mine while I drew, and any time I got too engrossed in my drawing, she would take a swipe at my plate, trying to nab what was left of my croissant. I think in the end the cat ate more of it than I did.

What could be better than a dogpile?

Granted they can be smelly, and noisy, and drooly—and very hot and flea-laden in the middle—but seriously, who wouldn’t want to be smack dab in the centre of this pack o’ hounds?

At long, long, long last, it feels like summer may actually be coming. Quick, everybody into the water, just in case it doesn’t last…

…kicking ass and taking names.

Seriously, why has Apple not pounced on this whole pet industry thing? Labradors are the perfect demographic for the Shuffle…

A friend mentioned that I have not done enough drawings of dogs, so I think a few mutts are in order. After all, it’s springtime, and all the puppies are out learning to ride the bikes they got for Christmas, so it seems appropriate to catalogue their efforts for posterity…

The legend of Ratbeard is told to any pirat who takes to the sewers. He was, despite being near-sighted, the king of plunderers—and the story goes he wove hemp ropes into his hair, which were doused in saltpeter and set on fire, to slowly burn and surround his head with smoke, thusly freaking out his enemies. He met his demise when he turned his ship into a septic system and the methane met his molten braids. A grand exit, to be sure.