The honeymoon is over

Fluffy and I thought we would have a honeymoon, but it was a disaster. First, although the Motel 6 accepts dogs, they were pissy about sheep. So we had to cut our day short at Niagara Falls to find a place to sleep. I don't want to think about it, but it involved police, prejudice, pursuit and petunias. Fluffy's fondness for flowers was our undoing at the public park. "Don't ever come back," sounded like a stern advisory. Fluffy cried.

It turns out that the marriage laws of Massachusetts do not apply to ovine-human relationships. We foolishly assumed that if it covered all forms of human-human coupling, how could it exclude any loving liaison? Apparently, the Elvis look-alike had no official status, and the ceremony was a sham. Fools in love. . . .

Last night, I told Fluffy. This morning she's gone. Apparently, she doesn't want to live "in sin." There are many pastures in this area, so she could be anywhere; and it's unlikely I can find her because, basically, all sheep look alike.