Our puppy Luna, fourteen weeks old. Here she is: all legs, funny ears, and lots of energy. She is at the age where her body, ears, and legs haven’t agreed on what end size they want to be. “Stop growing so fast,” I want to tell her, but I fear it’s hopeless.
Our new puppy is smart. We were hoping for a dumb dog. At our age, the last thing we need is a dog that outsmarts all of us, yet here we are. Our Luna is intelligent, cute, sweet, and the happiest puppy we have ever had.
Remember the cute little puppy we rescued five weeks ago? It’s not a puppy. It’s a comedian dressed up like a puppy. A terrorist with cute eyes. She is a biting machine with a suicide wish. She bites into everything that comes her way, and I mean everything…but me.
This is Vader, on the morning of August 6th, 2022. A tenant had given him a stuffed animal to play with. The maintenance guy, who also happened to be one of my helpers when I have too much to do in my workroom, took the picture and sent it to me. “We found this little guy abandoned in the sink in the janitor’s room when we got our stuff. One of the apartments had been vacated in the night. Can you take him in?”
Always there, bothered by nothing. Our Vader, having a watchful eye over me.
A first-time visitor. I had to look it up; I had never seen it in our yard or on my walks. A rose-breasted Grosbeak. “Welcome to our home!” “The feeders are full, fly little bird, and be well.”
