Yesterday, Gary spent hours ploughing snow again.
I understand that we had an easy winter until a week ago, but already we're dreaming of spring.
I mended one of Gary's winter coats. I wasn't under duress starting the project, but it was like rebuilding the damned thing. Now most of the coat is held together with new thread, with some worn parts just ready to fall apart again.
I broke a sewing machine needle trying to stitch through several layers of fabric (plus fusible webbing/fabric stabilizer). Luckily, I have inherited many sewing supplies and had a heavy leather needle for my machine. Score! Did the trick.
I do so little sewing lately that I had to concentrate hard on even threading the sewing machine and bobbin. Now I also need to locate my reading glasses in order to start threading needles. It's more challenging than it used to be.
But I told Gary that I didn't "need a medal". I've enjoyed the problem-solving involved with the mending and fixing and inventing I've been doing in my "spare time".
Today, we might have only BayVill and Rocky in our care. Next week is going to be busy with the urgent situations of others needing pet care. 🤷🏼♀️
You're thinking it, aren't you? I haven't been saying "no" to everyone, but I am pacing myself.
☕️☕️☕️☕️☕️☕️☕️☕️☕️☕️☕️☕️☕️☕️☕️☕️☕️☕️☕️☕️☕️☕️☕️
This morning, Rocky's owner asked if I could meet her at the gas station to pick up Rocky. This was easily done.
As I approached M.'s truck, the wee weiner dog barked furiously: he can be 10 feet tall and bulletproof! However, as soon as I spoke, he was overjoyed to greet me and come into our car. I truly love these moments.
Most dogs are one part fierce protector and another part loving, faithful friend to many. Feeds my soul to be loved by dogs. ❤️
Our longtime friend Pete from Dunster asked me one time, "I see that you have hundreds of dogs' portraits on your website. If I pointed to any random photo, could you name them?"
That was a legit question to which I could answer, "Yes!". However, several hundred more dogs later, and fifteen or twenty years of my mind aging, I find that it isn't so.
Does it matter very much? No. I joke that, if I call them all "Sweetheart" to their faces, like I have called many of the men in my life, I can get away with the forgetfulness.
I'm only partly joking. (I haven't had to "fake it" with many men.)
Who cares anyway?
Hope your day is satisfactory or happy, or that it gets better.
Love, Ann
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