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My dog is so bad-ass that last weekend she galloped across a tennis court that was completely covered with ice, and then she jumped down a hill to get to the parking lot, which was also covered in ice, and then she ran some more. I started drafting a story about a bad-ass dog that runs on ice and kills vampires, until Mike reminded me that I am supposed to stop writing bad original fiction based on either 1) vampires or 2) homonyms.

Here is my bad-ass baby eating Christmas-shaped rawhide given to her by my mom.



And that's why there are no vampires in Upstate New York.

(More Abby pics.)