A new hen must be laying. We tried to share the scale with you but little hands look so big!
We played with the dogs, and I am happy to report she can stay. We’ve been through a few tenuous weeks. We were not sure if the counter jumping, gate-smashing, jealous and illiterate girl would ever adjust to something other than living on the streets.
Yes, I called her illiterate! Heavens!
“What does ‘sit’ mean?”
“Did you say ‘out?’ Of the trash can? Why? There’s food in there. That’s where I find food. You just said it again, louder. ‘OUT!’ Look at you. Are you now yelling at me? I’m wagging my tail, does that help?”
“Excuse me? ‘Off?’ Off what, the table? Why? There’s food on that plate.’
“Get that other dog out of here. This is my house now. Where did he come from anyway? grrrr.”
She’s a five year old female shepherd my son adopted from the pound. I was really unsure. All he wanted was, “An old dog who will cuddle with me.” Would she EVER shape up into a dog we could love? She’s coming around, and she’s quickly becoming one of the family. Old dog, new tricks. Anything is possible with love, acceptance and patience. (Which is also why the house was not clean, and then – with a severe attitude adjustment on my part – is now cleaned. Yay team!)
So, in my newly shined kitchen tonight, I tried Neufchatel. Tomorrow will tell. (I overheated the milk.)
Oh, and my son made me an arrangement from the swaths of daffodils decorating the yard. This pales in comparison to last week’s welcome he created: a line of mason jars, each one about ten feet from the next, set up like luminaria. Each jar held a few daffodils, glowing golden in the sunset, and lining the walkway when I arrived home at dusk. Wow. What a heart. His sister helped.