I think I recognize the face. . . .

One thing about a new home is getting to know the neighbors and sorting them out.

Rolling along

Condo living may be designed to simplify life, but it still requires some adaptation – even in the dog world.

On a Happier Note

(Taking a page from Steve at Shadows and Light, here's a snapshot from my travels in Sarasota.

 

)

     We went to the Sarasota outdoor arts showcase yesterday and wandered around from booth to booth admiring things we'd never considering buying, let alone bringing into our house, and others that we'd love, love to have but could never afford. We came away empty-handed, but got a nice lunch out of the day.

     We exited the restaurant at the same time as a woman who'd been sitting nearby with the fluffiest dog I'd ever seen. You could have attached a broom handle to it and cleared out every dust bunny in your house.  Curious, we asked what kind of breed it was and were dumbfounded to learn that it was a Coton de Tulear, the same breed as our dog. 

 

     Mamie's family tree is documented back to both sets of grandparents, but I don't think she'll ever look this aristocratic - mainly because I don't intend to spend every waking hour with a dog brush in my hand.

    It was comforting to see that this meticulously groomed dog had the same grubby whiskers as my own little snuffler. 

Hostages to ten pounds of cuteness

 

    We made it to Florida.

A slippery slope

7:30 a.m. and Mamie and I donned our morning ensembles: jacket, hat, scarf, gloves, boots for me and parka for her.  We crunched outside across the deck to the back yard.

Meditation on a telephone pole

Before

Friday was groomer day and we have still another new dog to get used to after 

Mamie's major trim. 

Oh well, it will grow out.

Sanctuary

Our household is about to experience a seismic shift.

          Today we’re opening our door and our hearts to someone in need of a witness protection program.

Caught between a litter box and a leash

We’ve been mired in a quandary here for weeks, asking ourselves – should we pull our feet out of our big metaphorical boots into the sloppy world of risk and commitment?