17 July—I had decided last night, before nodding off in front of the idiot box (comme d’habitude), to disquisite today upon Ronald Reagan’s presidency, which tends to be overrated by Republicans.

Then, when I read the front page (over the fold, of course) story in the Waterbury rag at the breakfast table this morning, the exigent topic became the COVID refugee from the Rotten Apple who’s now being a pain in the ass in rural, bucolic Kent because he doesn’t like Pavarotti, his neighbor’s rooster, crowing incessantly and therefore threatens to sue—or move if that doesn’t work. I suspect he won’t be missed.

But then again, who should turn up at the kitchen door? Remember Breakfast with Odocoileus on 8 July? Well, evidently Daddy Deer wanted a break from the fambly and came up by himself to have a stag breakfast. (I assume he’s the youthful paterfamilias of that disquisition, but don’t all Odocoileus virginianus bucks look alike to Homines sapientes?)

Being vain, Odo hung around till I took the equivalent of a roll of his rather pedestrian poses. I call him Odo after Odo the Great of Aquitaine, by the way, rather than any of the many other Odos, including William the Bastard’s half-brother.

So Reagan and the asshole from Kent will have to wait their turns . . .