Chappy decided that we really didn’t need our storm door after all, so she enlisted the help of the wind and had it ripped completely off its hinges. A lot easier to get in and out of the house with groceries now.

We’re having a Thanksgiving morning golf tourney over here at 10 a.m. to benefit the Island Food Pantry. I say it’s a benefit though I haven’t personally talked to anyone at food pantry as of yet. I left a message with them a couple weeks ago — haven’t heard back. I figure that I’ll just take half of whatever comes in from entrance fees and give it to them. Don’t suppose they’ll mind. Anyway, if you’re interested in playing please call me at 508-627-2729 and I’ll sign you up. The entrance fee is $40. It’ll be a scramble style event and not terribly serious. You don’t need to bring any clubs, just yourself (you’ll be choosing clubs from our lovely assortment). I imagine it will be a fun way to get the day started. But, of course, I could be wrong.

The Doosleberrys’ hen, Francis, gave birth to six lovely chicks last Friday. The eldest, Jonathon, has already been accepted to Dickinson College in the Perdue School of Fowl Sciences, which is good because the youngest, Prissy, has run afoul with the Mallard Boys of Caleb’s Pond. Tsk tsk.

I’m yet to shut down the Big Camp. It’s not an overwhelming task — mostly putting bedding in bins, placing outdoor furniture indoors, and relieving pipes of their water. But I am loathe to break with history and start this process until it’s blowing 40 and the temperature dips below 33. Rain is preferable as well, so that my knuckles are extra raw when they rap against the cement after slipping off the frigid wrench.

This is an itchy time of year. The skin gets drier with the heat on inside, and there is more idle time to consider one’s skin. Skin prefers to be ignored. Attention only breeds irritation.

We still have our baby. I joke that I let him paddle board to town, but it’s way too cold for that now. He’s a good boy. And fair. He alternates his babbles evenly between da-da’s and ma-ma’s. He is especially fond of our cat, and becomes very animated when Fon-Fon ventures close to his playpen. Fon is less enamored with baby though, and can be seen at night testing the strength of the playpen’s mesh walls, and the security of its seams. One can never be too careful.

That’s about it for this week. We did burn a house down. On purpose. But I suspect you all know about that by now. I’ll be sure to keep you posted, however, should we choose to burn another.

Send Chappy news to ibwsgolf@aol.com.