Image Description:
A warm-toned, softly illustrated scene of Indy, a fox red Labrador, lying on a patch of grass beside a rustic wooden shed. He’s stretched out comfortably on a crumpled, well-worn blue/grey blanket, with another piece of the blanket trailing in front of him. The fabric is thin, frayed, and full of small holes from years of love and chewing. Indy gazes up with a calm, slightly curious expression, his ears relaxed. The background shows a hazy garden with soft sunlight filtering through trees, creating a peaceful, cosy atmosphere.
Hello everybody, Indy here with my very first diary entry, hope you like it.
The Joy of Indy
Some detectives have a magnifying glass. Others have a notebook. Me? I have… The Blanket.
I’ve had it since I was a pup — back when my ears were too big for my head and I thought squeaky toys were a sign of danger. Over the years, I’ve sucked it into the perfect state of comfort: soft, floppy, full of holes, and with a smell so powerful it could probably be classified as a secret weapon.
Sir Dunkalot says it “needs a wash.” I say washing it would destroy its unique… bouquet. This is not just a blanket — it’s a fabric biography of my life, every thread telling a story of naps, dreams, and the occasional biscuit crumb.
So if you see me stretched out with it, looking proud, know this: you’re looking at a detective and his most prized piece of evidence. Case closed.
(Photo by Rachael — aka Lady Biscotti — from Soft of Sight Photography. Check them out on the website and on Facebook.)
Blind Man Makes 