Let me preface today’s blather with the remark that, this one is not my favorite dog.  My favorite dog died.  And I will never get over losing her.  That out of the way, I need to tell everyone about Scooter now.  He has come so far since we first brought him home.  He was horribly abused for the first two years of his life.  He adopted us as his second, and last, family because he knew that he would be taken care of here.  (I have been wondering about this same sort of attitude with my newest bonus kids.)  But here’s the strange part, Mr Scardy Cat Dog spends most of his time with me these days.  And yet I bore him nearly into a coma.  He drags sock after sock after hedgehog after little blue lamby after sock down here.  Sets them near my chair, sighs loudly, then flops onto the carpet near my feet.  When any one else shows up he nearly vibrates him self into a seizure (which has actually happened).  I know, it’s just all weird with me.  As I have said before, I can’t help it, I was born this way.

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