All I can say about this boy, Emerson, is that he cleans up well. Really. He does. He is so black he shines blue. He plays like an over-fueled tank, and always has slobber, dirt and sticks glued to himself.
This is my girl, Luna. I know. I repeat myself. But here she is, all smiles and dirt. She wrote the How to Be (Happy) manual, and she follows it word by wag. It behooves one to follow her advice.
That orange thing is a squeaker-toy that still has its squeaker two years later! A miracle.
This morning I bent over to pull up a little volunteer garlic peeping out from the mulch. My thinking was ahead of myself, as usual, imagining it in my stir-fry. "Ping!" and the back slid out of alignment.
I do not like that feeling, like it will be impossible to straighten up, ever again. Luckily for me, chiropractic care is never far away.
On the table at the office, I found myself in tears of frustration, anger, fear. Damn! I just wanted to... fill in the blank, anything but this. Crick-crack, thump. Physically adjusted back, somewhat, but still shaky. What's going on here? asks the chiropractor/husband. Arrrrrggh! A new wave of sadness.
A new wave of news concerning the dog-chaos of December. I won't go into gossip-details, as I know only what was in the newspaper, namely that the dog-day-care place where I used to take my dogs has been busted as a "grow." Yes, this goes on all around us, in town, out of town, in houses, in businesses, back yards, gardens, what-ever. It's a free country, right? Yeah yeah.
My dismay involves the danger to which the dogs were subjected as a "front" business to the grow. Had there been the kind of bust with guns, etc., who is watching out for the dogs? Oh, yes: we paid to have our dogs there.
Well. It's all over now. My dogs are safe and secure with me. They are safe when I go to work. The other dogs are most likely with their families, they too, are safe. The humans are on their own, I guess, choosing their own destinies.