Tying up loose ends

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I found Lilian’s bowl this morning. I had needed a bowl to put the old breakfast dog kibble into so I could pour the new bag in. Habit solved the mystery!

Weeks ago, Raven knocked over my papaya tree. The roots were separated from the trunk, but I replanted it anyway, hoping it would revive.

Today my hopes were dashed. When I saw the trunk had tilted, that gave me the clue. The fat lady sang.

Wrapping it up, this evening when I arrived home, I let Raven out and she turned and blocked the door so my Doberdame couldn’t exit. I told Raven to back off, but did she? Noooo. So I threw my empty soda can at her feet. What did she do? Grabbed it, ran with it, squashed it, and when I came back out, spat it at me feet.

Not to be outdone, and still on her “big bowl” high, Lilian grabbed the can and ran with it.

Finally, Ginger got a turn at coveting it, shortly before I put it in the recyclable cart.

Lilian’s Bowl – a rewrite

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This morning I needed a dog bowl for something, so I picked the one closest to my hand. It happened to be Lilian’s. Lilian, on a scale of 1-10 of Doberdivaness, is a 10. And bless her soul, she has an only-child mentality, but is living in a Brady Bunch environment.

I try to indulge all my dogs’ personalities. With Lilian, I make her feel special with such things as a unique bowl and being served dinner first. Her bowl has circular indentations on the bottom to help cool her food faster on hot-food days.

I had pretty much already used up my allotment of brain cells faster than usual on this day, so when I looked for it at dinner time, I could not find Lilian’s bowl. Nor could I remember what I needed a bowl for in the first place, so no tracing my steps. I haphazardly looked in the closet, under rolling crates, in Ginger’s stashing spot, and I even thought I may have tossed her bowl in the trash earlier while wondering whose turn it was to participate on our next bath day. No bowl in any of these places.

Though I am stubborn, there came a point when I gave into the fact that the bowl was hiding beyond the range of my GPS … or ESP. The point came when the hungry faces staring at me were dragging drool strands along the tile. So I pulled a bowl from the rafters and set it in Lilian’s food-fixing place.

Actually, the bowl came down earlier when I used it for de-boning the chicken thighs from the slow cooker. This was an added perk to the Doberdiva because she not only got her portion of the stew, but got extra soupy-stuff to lick off the sides. Brownie points for the cook!

Lilian was impressed with her monumental bowl.

Raven, on the other hand, is not speaking to me.

Hahahahaha! If that were only true! Hahahahaha!

Why is “Lilian’s Bowl” empty?

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I had a lovely blog entry about Lilian’s bowl.  When I pressed PUBLISH tonight, and checked the website, it came out completely blank.  That’s a lesson learned.  Copy what you write before you trust the Publish button to do the job.

I asked for help.  Will be surprised if I get my post back. 

Mr. Fawn

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It appears Mr. Fawn’s owners have reclaimed him. This must have happened rather quickly because his kisser is no longer listed as an inmate in my local shelter.

My hope is that the owners came home yesterday, notice he was missing, and panicked. Panick is good for a person. It makes you realize that what you have is important. Mr. Fawn is important.

After they panicked, they got their heads together and drove straight to the shelter where Mr. Fawn had been waiting all day for his taxi ride home. I hope that the shelter workers, as they usually do, discussed neutering and why Mr. Fawn should have it done. I hope that they tell the owners that Mr. Fawn needs a collar so he could have his ID on him, therein a person who finds him could locate the owner instead of having to take Mr. Fawn to the shelter to do so. A microchip would also have helped expedite matters at the shelter, though there is now controversy over microchips. Are they safe or health hazards? We don’t know.

I hope that the moment the owners saw Mr. Fawn, they felt elated, and all the things they’ve heard, which I just mentioned above, sank in.

And most of all, I hope they find a way to keep him secure, so I do not see Mr. Fawn wandering the streets again.

P.S. I called the shelter. The folks who own Mr. Fawn called in a lost report. The shelter called the folks who own Mr. Fawn to let them know they had the subject of their lost report, and they came in at the end of the day to reclaim him.