If you want coherence, go read a novel

Project House: still waiting for loan application to be approved. Because THAT'S not a nerve-wracking few days, is it? Signed a bunch of paperwork with our landlord (aka the Seller, aka the Agent. He wears many hats.) that would usually not be signed until after he sees our pre-approval letter. Huh.

Project Baby: AM OVULATING TODAY. Got the simpering digital smiley face on Clear Blue Easy's ovulation kit this morning, backed it up with the more prosaic two-matching-lines kit from Accu-someting. They agree with each other. I've been so wrapped up with peeing in a cup every morning (I've gotten REALLY GOOD at that-- no splashing, no overflow!), testing with two different tests (what if one of them DOESN'T WORK?), taking my vitamins & etc, that I almost forgot that in order to get pregnant, we'd still have to have sex at some point. Thank goodness Don had the presence of mind (or something) to remember that bit.

Project Sister Coming to Virginia to Take Back the Dog We've Been Caring For for 9 Months: complete, amid much heartbreak and sadness. Our place is too quiet now. Alice seems a bit lost. Don may or may not have cried. We miss you, Cocomo! Come back any time!

Thoughts: that smiley face is pretty damn condescending. I mean, we are presumably intelligent, well-educated women. We do not require a flippin' smiley face to say, "yay! you're ovulating!". Seriously? Stop infantilizing the fertility-challenged.

It really sucks to realize that your zipper is down at the grocery store, where you've gone straight from work. And subsequently realize that you haven't used the bathroom in hours. How many people noticed that zipper? HOW MANY?

It is surreal to hand the rent check to the landlord and have him say, "If this works out, I'll be giving half of this back! Not to mention your damage deposit, the downstairs tenant's damage deposit, and half of her June rent!"

The bank has a website where you can check the process of your application any time. I hope they don't track how many times an applicant checks the site, or read too much into that. Every 2o minutes is normal, right?

It seems that Don doesn't really enjoy being woken up by having pee-soaked tests thrust towards his face. I can't see why-- I mean, smiley face! Right there! Exiting news.

Epic

If only I'd been able to live-blog the entire journey, to really give an idea of the crazy that is camping someplace twelve hours away, with the entire 'family', in a small car. My mind is so full and tired, that all I can offer is snippets...

Like getting pulled over on the interstate in New York, going through the whole license-and-registration rigamarole, and finally:

Officer: Do you know why I pulled you over?

Don: Honestly? No. No idea. (We weren't speeding, see, because the were police everywhere due to its being Memorial Day Weekend.)

Officer: Don't laugh, but I saw your dogs moving around in the back seat, and thought that they were kids that weren't buckled in. Now I see that I was mistaken. Sorry about that.

And so we were let back on the road, our "kids" still loose in the back. Too bad that the next time we were pulled over-- about four hours later, in Vermont-- it was because we were speeding, and resulted in a ticket.

There were lovely meals with friends we haven't seen in years... Friends that should come with a label: Do not be afraid of the vegans, they still eat pizza* and drink beer, and they don't sneer at your omelet! Friends that are coming down to visit us next month, at last!

"Camping" within the city on a holiday weekend was a new experience for us; we usually aim for off-peak times and out-of-the-way places, hoping to get a little peace, quiet, and privacy. This time, we were sort of treating the campsite and tent as a very cheap hotel room; not a 'getting away from it all' time so much as just a place to crash after being in town all day. Good thing, too, as it was pretty crowded and loud. The cat was wonderful; twelve straight hours in the car, two days in a tent, and another day back in the car doesn't phase her at all. She is the best road-trip cat imaginable**. Sometimes she's so quiet in the car that I have to check to make sure she hasn't slipped out somehow, but she's always just sleeping under the passenger seat. Alice loves it, too. We've taken so many trips (and moved cross-country) so many times in the eight years we've had her, that she seems to think spending days in the car is perfectly normal.

Cocomo, the sister's dog, was less relaxed. She is not a fan of the road trip, but that's one of the reasons why we took her; my sister is coming up in a few days to collect her and drive her back to Texas. We were hoping this trip would normalize the experience of being in the car, and I think it helped. Mainly, though, we just wanted to enjoy our last week with her:

Vermont is still awesome. We sort of spent the entire weekend saying, "Why did we leave this place, again? Why aren't we still here?" and reminding each other of the six-month winters. It just doesn't work, though, because who can think of snow, in the face of this:

Or this:

That picture encapsulates so many things that I love: my husband of one year, two days; my baby with the floppy ears; the neice-dog; and Speeder & Earl's mochas, of which I have been suffering withdrawal pains for four years. It's been too long.

*hummus, no cheese, tons of veggies. Looked yummy.

** I don't know anyone else that takes their cat on road trips, so I'm just guessing. But she handles it like a pro!

Falling for dogs that aren't your own

Good news, part A: I have normal chromosomes. (Insert major sigh of relief here!)

Good news, part B: Don's insurance seems to cover paternal karyotyping.

Irksome news: My RE office has misplaced Don's insurance information, so I have to bring it to them again. Just as I did two weeks ago! This is not helping with that recurring feeling I have of being on a repeating loop of time.

I'm not that worried about Don's genetic material, for various reasons that I won't put here. The next logical step in the Neverending Fertility Quest is (of course) the Uterus Exam, the timing of which is a fragile thing: depending on my cycle, my work schedule, and the doctor's schedule. I think we're looking at the end of May, maybe? I ovulated freakishly late this month, so I have no idea when to expect my period... The challenge right now is remaining un-pregnant until all these tests can be done. Now that we've gotten pregnant on the first or second try three times in a row, we take it a bit more seriously than before. . .

And on the Interesting News front, my sister is finally coming to claim her dog. You know, the dog we agreed to watch from August to October, and have had ever since? The dog that Don has completely fallen in love with and doesn't want to give back? This is going to be painful. (For him.) It should be noted, though, that Don is kind of easy when it comes to dogs. He falls in love with every dog that he spends time with, and that loves him back. I'm sure he'll get over it, right?

Right?

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Two days ago was the anniversary of our first miscarriage. I can't believe it has been one year, already, since this. On a brighter note, it was also the 7-year anniversary of Alice's adoption from the animal shelter.

Goodbye

Max
January 1990 -- December 2007

What can you say, when you've lost the dog you've had since childhood? Oh Max, Maxi-poo, Maxim Poochini, puppy, we will miss you so much. I can't imagine our family without you in it... I'm so sorry that I couldn't be there for you at the end, when your seventeen years got to be too much for you.

Puppy Parenting

Never have I seen my poor puppy as sick as she was last night. First it was Cocomo, my sister's dog... She discovered that she could get her entire head into the bag of kibble. Unknown to us, she gorged on dog chow through the night, and was copiously sick all over my study. Why they always choose that room, I have no idea; both dogs seem to see my room as an emergency toilet. By morning, she was pretty well wrung out, and I spent the rest of the day worrying about her; she looked so sick and sad when I left for work.

Cocomo was fine when I got home. She was spry and happy, and the apartment showed no evidence of further episodes. Alice, however, looked a little... off. Head hanging down, eyes dull, listless, restless, panting. So I search the whole apartment and find a mostly-eaten bag of chocolate chips stashed under the sofa. Alice confirmed my theory by promptly throwing up the most disgusting chocolate mess I've ever seen.

She's had incidents with chocolate in the past, but hasn't touched the stuff in years. Otherwise I'd never have been so stupid as to leave the bag on the counter like that... We were up with her on and off all night, taking her outside, feeding her broth, letting her sleep in our bed. I've never been so worried about her before... her little heart was just pounding. I think chocolate is like heroin or something for dogs, it screws with their hearts.

This morning she seemed OK, though. Head back up, tail wagging again. She stopped panting sometime during the night and seemed to be sleeping better. I almost called in sick to work to stay with her but she was so much improved that I didn't. I hope that was the right decision. Now we have to steam-clean the carpets... again... And create a secure hiding place for our chocolate stash so that we don't accidentally kill our puppy. I don't want to ever go through that again...

(none)

Sometimes there's too much going on, to post in a blog. Sometimes there's nothing going on and nothing to write about. Sometimes it feels like both.

My sister and her boyfriend spent the weekend here, en route from Texas to Europe. Now they're gone, but we have her car and her dog in our possession as a reminder that being a big sister is forever. Don't make that commitment lightly, folks...

Am I a little jealous about a 2-month trip to Europe? Of course. Who wouldn't be? On the other hand, I will never be footloose enough to quit my job, cancel my lease, put all my stuff in storage, drop the dog at my sister's, and take off. I will never be outgoing enough for couch-surfing to be my preferred way of travel, which is what they'll be doing. More than anything I want them to have an amazing trip, something to remember for life.

Although I'm damn worried about Cocomo. This dog is seriously underweight, almost to the point of being starved. I've never seen a dog so thin that was being actively cared for-- she's the kind of skinny that you usually only see in strays or recently rescued shelter-dogs. Her home-life has been very unstable since Don and I moved away. First in one apartment, with three different roommates in succession. Two with dogs. Then in a house populated by three guys, my sister, and a huge unfixed male boxer that intimidated the hell out of her and ate her food. You can see all of her ribs, even from a distance.

I know my sister loves her dog and that she does as well as she can by her. But I kind of wanted to smack her when I saw that puppy... If my dog were losing weight like that I would do whatever I could to fix the situation, you know? Move the dog to a safer location. Keep her, and her food, in a bedroom. Something. Not just let her stress out until her ribs poke out through her fur.

Lately I've been gripped with worry that I'm losing this pregnancy. I don't know why, exactly, but I feel certain that something is wrong even though I feel OK. Maybe because I feel so OK. I don't even remotely feel pregnant anymore. My next doctor's appointment isn't until Wednesday, a week from today. I guess if nothing happens between now and then, I'll just ask them to confirm that everything's still ticking along in there. Right now all I feel is impending doom...

Dogs

I don't have a good memory for faces and names. If you're a regular customer at the bank, I probably won't remember your name until I've got your account on my screen or your driver's license in my hand. If you're a new coworker, I'm grateful if you wear your name tag for a few days. But, I have a great memory for dogs. If I meet you and your dog on the street and we chat, the next time we run into each other, I will remember that your dog's name is Molly, she's 5 years old, from the shelter and very shy. I have a tally of the 'dog regulars' that Alice and I meet on our morning walks: the lady with the two Bichons, the guy with the brown hound-mix...

I feel a certain kind of solidarity with these other dog-walkers: like me, they are the kind of dog-lovers who take the time and effort to walk their dogs every day. I think that like me, they keep their dogs in the house, let them sleep on the sofa... talk to them, scratch behind their ears. To me, this is the only way to be a dog owner.

Every day on our walk, we pass a dog that is tied to his doghouse. He's always out there, whether it's freezing cold, raining, whatever. I've never seen a person with him, he's always alone. He always barks as we go by, and his bark sounds hoarse and tired, as though he barks all day long... which I know he does: I once got into a conversation with the across-the-street neighbor (another dog-person, of course) who confirmed that the dog was always outside and constantly barking. What good is it? What could possibly be the point of even having a dog that you never see, never interact with? It's not as though he's a guard dog; his barking doesn't elicit the slightest response from within the house, and why would it when he barks all day: at other dogs, squirrels, passing pedestrians? He's a friendly-looking yellow retriever mix, not at all intimidating. His doghouse is by the side of the house, pretty far from both the front door and the back door... not what you could call a security dog or something. It just pisses me off and makes me so sad, because... why? Why is this seemingly nice dog chained to his doghouse all day and night? He should belong to a family that would treat him as dogs should be treated. Dogs are social animals; they wither in isolation. They need to be part of a family, to interact, to play. Why would anybody go to the trouble and expense of procuring a dog just to chain it and abandon it? Why doesn't his owner come outside, leash him up, and take him on a stroll around the neighborhood, so that he can meet-and-sniff other dogs instead of just barking at them from a distance?

If you don't know what it means to have a dog, don't get one. If you don't understand that they shed, mess up your house, make noise, and require training, exercise, socialization, time, and understanding...don't get one. Or, get one and be prepared to make sacrifices you weren't expecting. Don't get a dog just to banish him from the house for being a dog.

Essay: My First Dog

I have two dogs. One is Alice, the dog I write about all the time. She's my baby, the doggie that lives with Don and me, walks with me every morning, sits between us on the couch every evening, and regularly gets into the kitchen trash and thoughtfully spreads it around the house. She's our rescue dog, our shelter-puppy, our no-breed-at-all is-she-even-all-dog problem child. Seriously, when Don and I talk about having a baby, Alice comes into the conversation, as in How Will This Affect the Dog? or Will This Be Detrimental To Our Relationship With Alice?



But long before Alice came into my life, I had Max. Max is my family's dog, and when I was nine he was my dream-come-true. Seriously, is there anything more iconic than a Dad walking into the house with a cardboard box full of squirming puppy for his children? I will never forget that first evening, my sister and I racing all over the backyard with this tiny, fluffy baby dog. Max was and is a perfect family dog: he loves people, any and all people. Always a runner, if he got free we could shout to a random stranger-- "Catch that dog!"-- he'd run to them because Hey! New People! A house-full of family is his dream come true, and nothing upsets him more than an empty house. Max is a papered Bichon Frise, a perfect example of the breed and the cutest one I've ever seen. Bichons are frequently mistaken for puppies, even late in life. Many times after Max perfected his Houdini escape act, we'd get calls from neighbors... "We found your puppy in our yard, poor little baby!" Even after he was 5 years old, or 9, or 12. Bichons also don't shed, they don't smell like "dog", and are the best possible breed for dog-allergic folk or asthmatics like my dad. At 12-14 pounds for most of his life, Max is the perfect lap-dog size, and loves nothing more than curling up in someone's lap, against their leg on the couch, or at the foot of the bed.

Max is pure alpha-dog... nothing scares him or intimidates him. I've never seen him look sorry, sheepish or hang-dog--which is Alice's usual expression. He has never tucked his tail between his legs, or turned and ran from anything. The only member of the household he ever listened to occasionally was my mother. In a larger dog this may have been obnoxious, but in an adorable little Bichon it was nothing but charming; so self-confident! He is quite self-serving for a dog, and very self-sufficient. He has always known how to get what he wants-- a biscuit, a scratch behind the ears, up on the couch. When my parents' house burned down, he was the first out of the house, and that was in 2001 when he was already a "senior" doggie. He was found, as usual, in the arms of a neighbor.

Max is turning 17 years old this month. The puppy that we got when I was nine, is still chugging along now that I'm twenty-six. He weighs only 10 pounds now, and he feels fragile when I pick him up. His vision and hearing are both mostly gone, but not his sense of smell or love of a good cuddle. Even so, every time I go home and see him, I fear that it may be the last. It's hard to imagine loosing something that's been part of my life for so long, but I have to face reality; he's an elder doggie now. Having a dog like Max, though, has guaranteed that I will always have a canine member in my family. It made me a "dog-person" for life.

Trojans and Mutts

Why look, it's my blog! I haven't been here in a while. For many reasons, or many excuses. First, I had a Very Bad Virus on my computer, and I really couldn't use my computer online till it was fixed. Usually, McAfee just finds the virus, Trojan or whatever, deletes it, and a little window pops up that says,

"Virus found and deleted!"

and disappears again. And I pat McAfee on the head for being such a good anti-virus software, being so diligent, protecting my computer! But this time, the window said,

"Trojan found, unable to delete"

which started all kinds of trouble. Many hours spend doing scans, visiting McAfee Help Online, visiting their forum boards, reading the FAQs, downloading their helpful mini-programs, running scans again. I eventually triumphed over the evil Trojan, which is now in quarantine. And I learned a lot about my computer and what to do with it. Like, Safe Mode. I didn't know what that was or how to use it, and now I do. This is the kind of thing I generally go to Don for, so it's nice to know that I can fix it myself if necessary.

And on Sunday, I had to work at the bookstore, when I've never had to work there before over the weekend. Everything I had planned to do-- you know, nothing interesting or fun but those little things that keep life moving like laundry, clean sheets on the bed, cleaning out the fridge-- didn't get done. So, no time to write. But, I've given my 2-weeks notice there. Starting in March, I will work just the one job, and just 35 hours a week.

I'm so exited that it's hard to describe. I'm trying to picture coming home from work on a Friday. It's about 5:00pm, and I have no other job to rush off to. The evening is mine, to spend with Don, to go out, to do as I wish. The weekend is mine. And all the evenings of the next week. It is an embarrassment of riches, this impending free time. The funny thing is that because the bank pays so much better per hour than the bookstore, I will barely be making any less money working 35 hours a week than I have been working 50-55 between the two of them these last three months.

Last night, Don and I watched the Westminster Dog Show, and Pedigree was running these commercials in order to raise money for their Adoption Drive . The first time this commercial came on, I cried. I think it's time to get another dog, or maybe, take some of my new free time and use it as volunteer time at the shelter here. Either way, I've decided to use dog-ness as a new judge of potential friends. I can't think of anyone worth knowing, off the top of my head, who doesn't like dogs.

New Habits

Don's mother came through the operation wonderfully, she's already back at home. So far it looks as though everything went smoothly, thank God. Don claims that she loved the cookies, but I'd be surprised if that were true, I didn't think that much of them. They weren't bad, just not great either. He sounds like he's having a good time being back in his hometown and with them... I really wish I could have gone with him. Stupid job!

I shouldn't say that because actually, the job is going great. Doing the same thing I was in Texas but for a higher pay, which is nice, and with nicer customers. I don't know exactly why, but the customers here are just much more easy-going than what we got back home. It might be because they're better-off and so they don't have as many issues with the bank, just drop off the checks from Mom & Dad. Or maybe they've just come to expect things like holds on their checks or whatever. Either way, they're very understanding and polite. Well-mannered. I'm even getting used to working either 4- or 6-hour shifts instead of the old 8 or 9; I can wear heels to work since I'm not on them as long. All in all, it ain't bad!

I walk with Alice almost every morning to this wonderful little coffee shop that's just over half a mile away. Their mochas = so yummy. They allow dogs inside, so I don't have to tie Alice up outside, and they have a resident cat hanging about. I love Starbucks as much as the next person (ok, probably more), but it's a nice change of pace to go to this independent, funky, neighborhood place instead. The walk itself is great, too; I'm getting to know my neighborhood and there's so much to see--- interesting older houses, the foliage, mountains in the background. While it's not exactly a 'workout', walking a mile and coming back with the drink is a nice way to wake up, clear my head and be ready for work. Alice, of course, loves it too.

I know it's too soon to judge, but I have a great feeling about this place. I think that Don and I have done something good for ourselves by coming out here; that wonderful things are happening. This city is promising.

Dogs in Creek

A few days before the move, my sister and I took our dogs to this field and creek behind her apartment complex. The light was bad, but who can resist doggy action shots? There was an epic battle over the red ball, which Alice finally won by biting through and thereby sinking it. The following should be equivilent to about 9,000 words about that afternoon.

In the editing screen these pictures form a neat 3x3 composition block. In the post they look as though a spastic three-year-old threw them at the screen. Go figure, right?

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Ok so all I had to do was change some html coding in the template so that now the body of text is bizarrely wide. But the photos fit. Please help.

Worries and more worries

Well. I'm feeling a good bit better, but not 100% yet. This seems to be one of those 24-hour type viruses or something... I'm glad today is my day off so that I can take it a little easy. Alice is at the vet's to have the lump investigated. Have I mentioned the lump yet? (scrolls to check) I guess not. On Friday Don found this big lump on her neck, just below the jaw on the left side. I don't know what it is-- cyst, tumor, something. We couldn't get an appt for Saturday so today she's having a comprehensive physical, all of her shots, and a lump-checking-out. They made me leave her there instead of staying with her, something I've never done before. I hope she's ok because in 5 years she's never been to the vet all by herself... she looked happy going in, though.

Don's phone-interview went really well and they're flying him to Virginia this weekend to interview in person. This is getting serious, they wouldn't spend $1100 transporting his butt over there if they weren't reasonably certain of offering him the job. They said on the phone that his ability to do the job is beyond dispute and the only thing they're worried about is relocating-- whether he'll be happy in such a small town after Dallas, the fact that he's (essentially) married, etc. Also, that he won't stick to the job for as long as they'd like but treat it as yet another stepping stone, which is a very valid concern on their part. Anyone looking at Don's resume could see the pattern of advancement every 2-3 years; they asked him to commit to at least three years if he gets the position, which makes me happy as well-- I don't want to get settled in Virginia only to hop up and leave again. Three years is better than two, and could easily lead to 4 or 5.

The hardest next step will be telling Mom and Dad that we may (probably!) be moving out of state again. This is going to be a little painful and I'm not looking foward to it, especially given the rate that things are happening. I've arranged to have dinner over there tonight, which is unusual. They probably think that we're preggers or something like that.

Things I'm worried about the most.

1. Telling my parents, their reaction, etc.
2. Breaking our lease, especially considering that it's cosigned by the above. Can't do anything that will mess with their credit scores, but there's no way I can pay the rent through February when we're paying in Virginia, too. As soon as I know for certain, I'll have to sit down with the leasing office folks and work something out.
3. Transferring at work. There are only 5 or so branches in C-ville, compared to dozens and dozens in the Metroplex area. To even get a job I might have to cut to part-time and get a second job which would suck. And I really want to stay with the bank-- I'll have been there 2 years in November and don't want to have any more 2-year stints on my resume. Just once I'd like to stay at one company long enough to reap the benefits, instead of starting over as a new employee somewhere.
4. The vacations for this autumn that we have already lined up. We're flying from Dallas to Boston in October-- are we going to have to fly or drive back here to get that flight? I can't change the tickets. In December we're going with my family to Big Bend State Park in west Texas-- is it going to be hard to work that around a new branch at the bank and Don's new job? To drive from Virginia back to Dallas and then from Dallas out West will be more exhausting than restful. But to fly will cost too much I think.
5. Not knowing anybody and becoming a total recluse that cries every day. You know, like the *last* time we left the state.

Dylan and drama

The dogs just stole the T-bone off the counter and D is yelling at them--drama everywhere! The fact that he was going to give that bone to them later is apparently irrelevant. Work...well, it was Monday. Is that enough? It turns out that the girl I'm not so crazy about (who's quitting/getting fired) doesn't like dogs, or any animals at all really. Can I judge character or what? In the span of 15 minutes she told me that she wanted a big SUV and a tiny tea-cup Yorkshire terrier--because it's the only dog she likes. Because she can put it in her purse. Sometimes people say things to me that I really have no answer for. (Like, WHY???)

Tonight was the first half of the PBS miniseries on Bob Dylan. That would have been such an interesting time to live though or grow up in...I kind of envy my parents that sometimes. I wonder if in retrospect this era will be just as interesting and my kids could feel the same way. I love Dylan.

My cabinet is coming along great; hit a snag tonight though b/c it needs some caulk. D said he had a caulking gun so all I bought (in my now-daily trip to Home Depot) was the special painters' latex caulk. I can remember a time in the distant past when if I was buying specialty latex products it wasn't for woodworking projects...Anyways.
Came home: no caulk gun after all! Argh. Tomorrow I don't have to be at work till 11 so I can work on it then--if I don't decide to skive off and go to Borders instead for a mocha-and-browsing session.

My Dog Alice: by Mara

I got to do the Long Trek with Alice (dog) this morning before work…one of the many benefits of working the closing rather than opening shift at the bank. Alice is an unusual dog (I know because people are always asking, “what is that?” and I have to say, “It’s a dog…”) So, I have compiled the following history/ fact sheet for future reference.

9 things about Alice

1. She’s from the pound, or “shelter” as we say now. You can actually “check out” dogs there, try them out and bring them back in 48 hours if they try to eat the cat or something. Alice had been returned twice already, poor baby. I have no idea why. She was the saddest-looking thing in that place, which is saying something.
2. She was clearly abused as a puppy and was terrified of men when we got her. It took months for her to realize that D is a nice guy who doesn’t beat dogs and start to trust him. She’s nuts about him now, though.
3. She won’t eat if I’m not home, which is kind of cute except when I’m out of town and she goes days without eating anything. Then it’s just sad.
4. When she feels insecure (which is often) she “hugs”: she’ll stretch her neck across the face of whoever she’s sitting with. I’ve never seen a dog do this before.
5. She’s very quiet.
6. I let her get hit by a car once. She was fine, better than the car, but it’s still one of my darkest, most guilt-ridden moments in life.
7. She seems to have more than nine lives. D and I have seen her go through stuff that would kill most dogs: Shortly after we got her, she ingested more than 1 ½ pounds of high-quality baking chocolate, which is toxic (supposedly) to dogs. She jumped out the window of my car while I was driving. She ate most of a pincushion (with pins) and plenty of other stuff. And got hit by that car. That’s just what we know about; those first 8 or 9 months are still a mystery. Thank God she’s settled down a bit in her adulthood; she’s five years now.
8. She’s pretty ugly for a dog; a mutt that doesn’t look like anything if you know what I mean…you can’t say, oh, she’s half this and half that. More like, “well, I reckon that her parents were both mutts, and all her grandparents…I don’t think there’s a breed to speak of for several generations of her lineage.”
9. She’s intensely loyal to me and has bitten D for real before thinking that I was in danger. (I wasn’t. There are some things dogs don’t understand very well.) D thought it was great though (an attack dog!), and tries to get her to do it again sometimes.