We miss you already, Sunset Magazine adventure.

Taking pictures of dogs, super easy, when the temperatures climb to the millions of degrees. You tell them to lay still in the shade, and they just do it, as if they are trained. As long as you are happy to snap a photo of big pink tongues. Because those things never stuck back in those tiny, little mouths.

Weirdo, freakazoid warm here, the last few days spent toxic gassing and housesitting. Makes for well behaved dogs and horses, but ill behaved humans and watering systems. Time to go back to our tiny house on the Westside, leave the estate in the hills.

Here's the part where I should go on about there's no place like home, home is where the heart is, and it's easier to take care of a super tiny house with no yard. Who needs a beautiful estate with a center aisle barn and paddocks, on a hillside under a ridge, with views across the valley, and shady trees and a pool and secluded hot tub next to the olive orchard? And a house with floor to ceiling wood clad casement windows and a kitchen that you can actually cook stuff in and skylights everywhere and no dirt or cluttery bits and decks and decks and more decks? And succulents in gigantic pots and no neighbors and the longest driveway in the world, and the tractor guy out there, grading the arena as we speak. And a long hallway that is a like a small dog racetrack and down furniture and the biggest sliding glass doors in the world? And a pasture? And a giant garage with big windows and a tool shop? And a super long driveway to a really quiet road? And a secluded ridge top up above?

Who needs it.