Monday, June 20, 2011

Wobble in the Orbit*

of the planet is my mother spinning in her grave, as Douglas Adams so succinctly pointed out. I now have a tattoo, gentle readers. It is the size of a Border Collie print on the inside of my right forearm, as jet black as Eddie was. As solid as the memory of his first jumping up on me in delight, paws distended and dancing. As joyful as his laughing mouth at the thought of being released from his 'run' at the League for Animal Protection. As joyful as any dog can be at the thought of running with the pack.

The unicorn meat-eating cats are able to escape me every morning now, although Minkins must come in by 10 am. Otherwise he is gone all thing that he is. Romania has joined my list of hits. I love the Iron Curtain countries, literature and culture, and am glad I am making some kind of impression there. 

I am glad to see the Arab Spring persist in Syria. It's much harder to do without any physical support and shows true dedication.

Wednesday, June 1, 2011

Short But Sweet

My dog craves a fenced in yard and cat food. Unlike Edward, Max is not overweight. Yet. Cat food does tend to put the pounds on.

Back to regular NPR on weekday mornings. I love NPR, just not the weekend shows, besides "Car Talk." As a Southern woman, I am addicted to everyone else's car problems.

A Facebook friend wrote about a passenger on his airline that thought Hawaii was an international destination and wanted to know where she could change her currency. If you are in a car with this woman, you don't yell, "Navigator" at her and take off across country.

I am still painting my walls a creamy white. The final product is  so nice, who cares about the carcinogenic fumes my cats and I are sleeping in every night? Echo has started to glow in the dark, but I am sure they have planned some way to take it out on me. I HAVE to keep track of my checkbook. The little buggers can use my bank card.

I am planning for Maxwell to go to Field of Dreams in the nearby town of Vinton for some training. They have doggie day care, complete with naptime...who can beat that?

Speaking of dogs, a small black and tan mix was found wandering the streets of Dublin, Ohio with a small note attached, "My name is Chessy. I am 1 1/2 years old and I am a good dog. I need a good home. Sorry." How sad is that? Short but sweet, and it didn't help him in the end. I happen to know the person who found him will find him a good home if she can, but in this time of America's recession and full shelters, this story is not uncommon, except for the note.

Please help. Donate something to your local shelter. Anything. Any shelter. As great as no-kill shelters are, there just 'aren't enough homes for them all.'  And I think it takes some guts to volunteer at a kill shelter, knowing they aren't all going to make it and wanting to make a difference in their lives all the same.