The Female went to have her glasses fixed this morning, now that we are expecting her to need them for a while longer!!!!

I think the good news have an impact even on us pets. Everybody is in a great mood.

This morning the neighbor’s visitors, Amy and Matthew from New Jersey, walked by with our friends’ dogs. Unfortunately—to my horror—their own pit bull Stan tagged along. Elsa, my favorite, almost knocked the front door in to come to comfort me. I was so upset because my Female wouldn’t let me out to snap and growl at the huge beast.

Annebäbi and my Human, dressed in her long, fluffy black-with-red-stars winter gown (and sweating like a pig), joined the morning walkers, while the Wolfman was cutting dead trees somewhere, making terrible noises with a chainsaw that is bigger than yours truly.
While the humans chatted, Elsa and I observed, head on head, or better head over head, the other dogs running and frolicking — just not fair. Finally Elsa was called, the young couple bid goodbyes and disappeared with the dogs in the woods; they had an eleven hours drive ahead.

A good start for a new life the Female honestly didn’t quite expect …

The doctor called her personally yesterday, saying he had phenomenal good news.

She was dancing the Hallelujah — not the You Want it Darker …

There will be more tests, in 3 months. If also good, in another 6 month, a year, 3 years. She might become one of the 100-year olds to climb out of the window …

Later in the day, my Wolfman took us over to the Vikingman and his Brynhildr. They had just purchased a new fancy riding mower. I’m not quite sure if they intend to proceed with the former farm owners’ project “English Garden” or just avoid losing gallons of sweat by pushing a prehistoric contraption over a rough terrain. Well, the new toy gave up before it even completed its first assignment. Wolfman, who had offered his help to fix that thing was about as successful as the Vikingman.

My sister and I were to play with our four-legged friends, except they preferred to wait to be fed. Back in their house, I picked up the delicious feline scent of Ms Norris. Voldemort, the black cat, was nowhere in sight, but of course I—being half blind and hard of hearing—still have my snout par excellence.
So while Brynhildr and the two human males were devouring their mouthwatering meal, I made a run after the tempting smell and proudly, I must say, cornered the pretty cat with my everlasting, human-eardrum-popping bark.

Not good! Not even my sister was impressed with my achievement. To the contrary, when they put me out into the fenced yard, she had to come along. Made her mad too. Ladylike as she pretends to be, she never complains if caught as an innocent bystander.

That’s what one calls a dog’s life. Left alone, while everybody—I mean everybody—got fed. Wolfman was elated, chewing on something the Female never cooks: none of  those annoying feathered creatures. She does eat other species once in a while, although those are in an unrecognizable state. I must show her a picture of a cute cow or a handsome bison — grassfed or not.

Basquiat

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