Today I got a message from the dog Rosie, who currently resides in Switzerland with Evan's Parents. So today is a guest post, of sorts, from Rosie:
Harriet, hi.
Hork up any good hairballs lately?
Things are quiet here. I can't walk much, but my digestive track is working ok and it's been a while since I've had to rush a warm gushy cream-hued heave out onto one of the better Turkish carpets. I'm Turkish, so where should I heave? No recent butt-geysers either. Guy-with-Funny-Whine-Voice seems to like not having to use that little spray container with the chemical smell (offensive when offal would do nicely) and all those bunches of white paper to wipe it all up. In obvious gratitude (he is well-trained) he now gives me more scraps when he's taking the chicken off the bones of a roaster. I am grateful.
The other day I caught a sniff of my arch, the Nova Scotia Duck Tolling Retriever, and launched myself down the stone-like stairs at him. He is the only male dog who must die and I don't know why. That is just how it is and I will not be swayed from this universal imperative. Anyway, his scent seared my nostrils and I was lost in the passion of the moment. My hind quarter problem got the better of me when I hit the bottom of the stairs and I could only lie there barking and snarling. Still, neither he nor his owner (Yellow-headed Nordic Biped by breed) have been back on my turf. It's not that I don't like breed dogs. That black dude I first came up with, back in the day, he was well bred. And, oh, did I like his scent.
Female-Who-Does-All-I-Need is much absent of late during the day and very tired in the evenings. She comes home smelling of many complex compounds I do not know (what dumps does she roam when I am not there to guide her?) and I am afraid she knows more pain than I. Her spirits smell intact, however, and she has maintained focus on the priority of caring for me, so all is well and many moments are sweet.
The weather has turned with short days and cold rain and the Magic of the Warm Tiled Floor has once again appeared (I must make an offering). This allows me to lie spread out on the floor soaking up the warmth.
Woof for now,
Rosie
Hork up any good hairballs lately?
Things are quiet here. I can't walk much, but my digestive track is working ok and it's been a while since I've had to rush a warm gushy cream-hued heave out onto one of the better Turkish carpets. I'm Turkish, so where should I heave? No recent butt-geysers either. Guy-with-Funny-Whine-Voice seems to like not having to use that little spray container with the chemical smell (offensive when offal would do nicely) and all those bunches of white paper to wipe it all up. In obvious gratitude (he is well-trained) he now gives me more scraps when he's taking the chicken off the bones of a roaster. I am grateful.
The other day I caught a sniff of my arch, the Nova Scotia Duck Tolling Retriever, and launched myself down the stone-like stairs at him. He is the only male dog who must die and I don't know why. That is just how it is and I will not be swayed from this universal imperative. Anyway, his scent seared my nostrils and I was lost in the passion of the moment. My hind quarter problem got the better of me when I hit the bottom of the stairs and I could only lie there barking and snarling. Still, neither he nor his owner (Yellow-headed Nordic Biped by breed) have been back on my turf. It's not that I don't like breed dogs. That black dude I first came up with, back in the day, he was well bred. And, oh, did I like his scent.
Female-Who-Does-All-I-Need is much absent of late during the day and very tired in the evenings. She comes home smelling of many complex compounds I do not know (what dumps does she roam when I am not there to guide her?) and I am afraid she knows more pain than I. Her spirits smell intact, however, and she has maintained focus on the priority of caring for me, so all is well and many moments are sweet.
The weather has turned with short days and cold rain and the Magic of the Warm Tiled Floor has once again appeared (I must make an offering). This allows me to lie spread out on the floor soaking up the warmth.
Woof for now,
Rosie
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