He had been sick for a few days – coughing instead of barking at us when we tried to steal his treats or, God forbid, the rocks he preferred over toys. We took him to the vet, for medication. We left around 9:30pm, and he was still breathing-tubed, feverish, but we were sure he’d be okay. I was, anyway.

I don’t have kids; I have dogs. Three now, and I think they wonder where their fourth went. We gave him a good couple of years, but the office, where he laid at our feet and begged for our lunches is awfully quiet now.

*Agnes Sligh Turnbull

On what was originally intended to be a trip to finish Christmas shopping, we came back with three fish and a snail. It’s strangely interesting to watch them, and I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t sat and done only that for more than just a few minutes at a time.

As a result of a series of strange events last week, we had a new garage-guest in the form of an 11 pound black hairball with legs. He stayed in our garage for a few days, we took him (although at that point, I was not convinced it had any gender at all, and if you’d told me it was, in fact, not a dog, I probably would’ve believed you. It’s hard to tell through all that hair) to the vet, gave him a bath and a haircut, and now, well.

He’s traveled back and forth from the garage to the office, and yesterday his status changed from garage-guest to house guest, and he really does not seem to have any opinion about it at all.

And seriously – he has the best bark. It’s almost as though he’s yelling “Wef!” at you and not really barking at all. What a dog.