When I came back from diving yesterday, there was the usual mob of neighbour kids playing on our dock. They helped me get my stuff up to the house and then went back to their play.

As soon as I walked back out of the house with my camera, the show began. Pointing a camera at kids playing will always get you some good shots – nowhere more than in Papua New Guinea.

Sheba likes to supervise the playtime. The kids love her because, while she’s big and scary looking compared to the other dogs in the compound, she loves to be around the children and never gets cross with them:

That’s about all the comment needed for this post. The rest is just happy photos of kids having a good time.Here’s

Esmerelda showing off:

Walking on the moon:

Hovering:

Levitation:

Falling asleep:

Big splash:

Esmerelda’s potential belly-flop:

Crazy man:

Having more fun that this would likely be illegal.

I’ve noticed that dogs often have this condition. My dog Sheba is afflicted by this malady. Poor thing – she seems not to notice. The moist pink floppy item just lolls out dripping fragrant mackerel-scented doggie slobber all over the place while she is blissfully ignorant of the messy situation. If only humans could be so innocently unaware of our oh-so-obvious design defects. Here’s Sheba letting it dry out a little:

Yes . . . anyway – quite a few humans suffer from this affliction. It is not commonly known that the President of the U. S. of A. is a sufferer. Though photographs are understandably rare, I managed to filch this one from a secret government web site to which only I have access (wink, wink, nod, nod). Here is the sad truth:

It’s no small wonder that President George II gets so fidgety. He’s probably in constant consternation concerning what improbable, out-of-order protuberance might slip out of his otherwise-quite-reasonable mouth. And this is before he even starts to worry about what he might say!

I myself have been tortured by this socially awkward syndrome for some years – ever since my head started shrinking sometime in 1967 (it is now approximately one-half its former size). For some brilliantly bizarre reason, my tongue has not become similarly diminutive. I try to keep it under control, but it does occasionally protrude inelegantly. Here I am in an embarrassing moment. (Look away NOW if you are easily frightened.)

So, as we go about our business today, let us keep in mind those less fortunate members of our fellow fauna who are unable to control their tongues.