#fenceboards

[forest-hashira]

beautiful people in my computer!!! i can at last speak to you all again!!! hurricane beryl can suck my balls, she took out our power for a little over 12 hours (5:04 am - 5:49 pm) and i have been going out of my mind not being able to share my every thought with you guys.

[kissagii]

i am painty :( send help :(

[halfmoonheart]

im moving so slow today but in my defense, i immediately caught an injured eye and a broken fenceboard so. i can only be doing so bad.

[kontextmaschine]

Alright, before a downpour more smashing today; more productive than yesterday because I realized I had gone down a creatine scoop cuz I didn't need it for regular operations but ideal smashing level is really 2 scoops past that, I was pausing between sets of swings not for muscle fatigue but to regain breath scrabbling for aerobic energy.

So that speeds timelines up; unfortunately I realized one part I thought was pretty settled had really been piled atop slid-down-horizontal now-rotting fenceboards with some voids beneath so that'll need smashing; call it a wash.

[seat-safety-switch]

If there's one skill that I strongly recommend everyone acquire, it's figuring out how to measure properly. I'm a bit of a hypocrite on this matter in that most of my fabrication projects show the scars of misdrilled holes, weird angles from cutting off too much material, and general crookedness. Not knowing what I am talking about has never been an obstacle before, so I'm not sure why you believe it would stop me now.

The most important thing about precision measurement is to use the right tool. For instance, if you’ve been using a $250 Mitutoyo vernier caliper to open cans of paint, maybe stop doing that. Conversely, if you’re working on some kind of Mars-mission space rocket program, your coworkers are right to laugh at you when you are trying to use the free paper measuring tape that Home Depot hands out to children when they assemble a birdhouse kit on weekends with their divorced dad. Once you figure out what the appropriate tool for the job is, you’re ready to start measuring.

Getting square to the thing you are measuring is frequently difficult, and this is the part where I fall down all the time. It turns out that the human eyeball is incredibly incapable of figuring out when something is actually parallel to a surface. As a result, our shitty ape brains think all kinds of things are flat when they aren’t: freshly welded body panels, the Earth, and refinished pinball playfields that just cost a grand on eBay. Expert machinists and even folks who are a little bit too obsessed with having perfectly spaced fenceboards have worked out a flawless technique for determining how to make sure you are squared up before measurement. Unfortunately, none of them taught me this trick, so I mostly just do my best, squint real hard for a few minutes, and then make a birdhouse so crooked that somehow the birds cannot hope to escape from it despite somehow being able to enter.

The last important aspect of measurement that you must master is not getting too down on yourself. Things are hard, the world is an imprecise place. Why spend a weekend moping because you wasted an expensive block of titanium when you could be out getting ice cream instead? I bet they’ve got Rocky Road...

[olyecology]

Creative ways to organize a creative space... #fiddleleaffig #rubbertree #snakeplant #redwoodplank #homestorage #cedar #benderboard #fenceboards #interiordesign #diy #woodworking

[beautifiedcreations-blog]

Teach your kids to work with their hands and build cool stuff! . . . #beautifiedcreations #handmade #handpainted #kidsbuilding #build #wallart #rusticdecor #reclaimedwood #recycledwood #fenceboards #roomdecor #playroom #kidsroomdecor #kidsroom #inspiration #adventure #etsy #etsyshop #etsyseller #shopsmall #handmadewithlove #woodwork #woodworking

[prorevenge]

I'm too poor for you? How about no mountain view for you?

When I bought my first house it was in a new neighborhood just being built. I was wealthy for being so young, so the house I bought was in an upscale neighborhood with 5 bedroom houses and long-established families as their primary residents. Almost everyone buying houses there was using money from the sale of an older home, thus they had equity to pay for things like landscaping and fences.

It took everything I had to buy the house, since I had to provide a large down payment (too much money for FHA), after closing I had very little money left.

The neighborhood association had written bylaws that the new houses must be fenced landscaped within 3 months of move in. It was going to take me longer than 3 months to save for it, so I started fencing and landscaping my new house myself.

My next door neighbor was totally stuck up - he was a matre'd at a fancy restraunt. He thought I was trailer trash since I didn't hire a landscaper. Firing the first shot, he called the county to tell them I was building a deck without the proper permits. He then called the developer of the complex, complaining I had changed the drainage elevation causing excessive runoff to his house (I had installed a french drain without him noticing, redirecting drainage through the middle of my yard). When we built our part of the fence, we had the fenceboards facing us (fenceposts facing him), and he forced us to take the fence down and remake it to face him so we were stuck with fence maintenance. He told the neighborhood association we planted our tree too close to the fence so we had to replant it.

All through this he would stand on his deck, talking on his phone super loudly and laughing boisteriously, drinking margaritas and looking down on us.

So here is where we get our revenge. We decided to get a large shed for our property, and took note of how he had placed his shed in his yard. We placed our shed identically in every way, exactly the same setback from the fenceline, exactly the same distance from the house, etc. Fortunatly this worked out so our shed was directly between his deck and his mountain view. We made sure to buy a shed high enough, and long enough to block his view completely. To add insult to injury at the end of the shed I made a dog-run with lattice surrounding it.

I tasted the satistfaction when I overheard him talking to the neighborhood association about it, saying "well he's just going to say he did what I did (regarding the shed) " and them telling him he was out of luck.

We dropped the value of his property by $25k easy by ruining his mountain view. He deserved every bit of it.

Needless to say if I saw a neighbor doing their own landscaping, I'd bring lemonade over :)

[twilights-800-cats]

<< Allegiances | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | From the Beginning >>

Chapter 7

Pine needles softened Tinystar’s pawsteps. Above him only the very tops of the pines stirred with a breeze. Down below was a very cool, dry day, overcast by grayish-yellow clouds. Tinystar relished the snap in the air, taking in the rich wood smells with a deep breath.

It will snow soon, he thought, looking through the tall trunks of pine and cedar. And then leaf-bare will truly be upon us.

He ignored the smells of prey. He’d eaten just before setting out, choosing to walk the well-trodden trail through Tallpines on his own. After all that had happened at Mothermouth, and Whitestorm’s deputy ceremony the night before, Tinystar simply wanted some time to himself – to walk the forest and come to grips with what was now truly his territory.

Whitestorm slotted into his deputy position easily, flowing naturally into giving orders to patrols and organizing cats to ensure the camp walls would last the first inevitable snowstorm. Tinystar felt no qualms about leaving him in charge for the morning – he’d truly picked the best cat to be his first deputy.

Tinystar let his paws take him where they willed – walking through the forest and letting himself listen and scent and simply feel the air against his thickening pelt. The forest trails that had once been ominous and frightening to him, the subject of horror stories told by his old kittypet friend Smudge and his half-brother Rusty, were now so achingly familiar Tinystar knew he could walk them with his eyes closed and his whiskers pulled.

He couldn’t help but recall his first trek through the woods – feeling the wind in his whiskers for the first time, feeling the soft earth beneath his paws, tripping over every root but skimming the undergrowth and feeling like he was truly where he belonged.

It wouldn’t have happened if not for Tigerstar.

The grief he felt for Tigerstar would stay with him forever, Tinystar knew. Yet with each passing day he grew more certain that this was how it was all meant to happen – that Tigerstar had somehow known that Tinystar would be his successor. That Tinystar would be the one to protect ThunderClan for seasons to come.

The pines opened up suddenly, and Tinystar paused. His paws had taken him to Twolegplace.

His tail flicked. Was it some form of providence? Or had his thoughts of his past steered him? Tinystar didn’t know. He laid down a scent marker at the edge of the trees and continued on through the large field behind the Twolegplace, his ears trained to the rows of fences for any dangers.

Finally the urge overtook him – Tinystar, with a mighty leap, sprang onto the top of the fence row, pausing to gain his balance before continuing on.

The scent of cat was faint. Tinystar guessed that most Twolegs wouldn’t let their kittypets out in this chill.

He padded along the fences, keeping an eye out for dogs or other cats. Not all kittypets were soft, full-fed layabouts. He stopped when a flash of fur inside one of the Twoleg nests caught his eye.

It was a she-cat – her scent was gently laid over the backyard, trailing along the stone path that led into the garden. Her fur was soft and brown, with patches of white. Her eyes were round and yellow in her round and chubby face and she looked utterly round and happy and unaware of Tinystar from behind her glass window.

Tinystar peered at her and found himself thinking of what kind of warrior she’d make: Not a good one, he thought. She’d spend all leaf-bare starving off the extra weight… and even if she made it through that she’d have to work hard to make those big round paws do anything but scare all the prey…

He stiffened. Was this what Tigerstar had thought when he had looked at him, all those seasons ago? Tinystar’s paws kneaded against the fenceboard, feeling a prickle of discomfort. What did he think of me? I didn’t grow much since…

Tinystar shook his head to clear his head – he’d not grown in height, yes, but in stature? His pelt rippled with strong muscles and his instincts were honed razor-sharp! He was a warrior!

He was about to move on – but something stopped him. That garden… perhaps it was all the reminiscing, but it was starting to look…

Tinystar let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding – this was his old nest.

Now that he had realized it, everything flooded back into his mind’s eye. There was the bush where he’d always made dirt, with the heavy flowers that disguised his scent – there was his housefolk’s little water pool, surrounded by smooth stones. There was the place where he’d chased his first squirrel. There was where he’d met Smudge for the first time, and where he’d tried to dig a hole out beneath the fence – the wiry mesh his housefolk had put up to catch his claws was still there.

Tinystar turned his gaze to the fat kittypet in the window, and his heart… ached.

His Twolegs had moved on.

There was something bittersweet about knowing it, something sad and selfish about the fact that Tinystar hadn’t thought of them at all when he left.

We’re both happy now, he decided. They have a kittypet that’s happy to be with them… and I am a warrior.

It was for the best.

Tinystar forced himself to hop down. The sun was climbing in the sky behind the clouds, and Tinystar knew that Whitestorm would be expecting him home sooner rather than later. He stretched, pulling warmth back into his body. He’d spent too long here, swimming in memories and nostalgia – he had to look forward now.

The bushes rustled.

Tinystar stiffened, unsheathing his claws. He peered at the undergrowth just outside the Twolegplace, narrowing his eyes.

“Come out,” he growled.

The bushes waved, their drying branches crackling – and out of them padded Mistypaw.

Tinystar relaxed his spine, sheathing his claws. He sighed. “What are you doing here?” he asked.

Mistypaw’s tail was low, but she gave Tinystar a somewhat defiant stare. She stood her ground, her paws digging into the frosted earth.

“I wanted to practice my tracking,” she declared. “I saw you leave and I…” her eyes lowered, her resolve fading suddenly. “I got curious.”

“And?” Tinystar wondered. He approached, sitting beside her.

Mistypaw’s tail kinked, and suddenly she had regained her fire – she stared Tinystar in the eye, demanding, like their roles were suddenly reversed and Tinystar was the misbehaving apprentice and Mistypaw the stern mentor: “What are you doing here?”

Tinystar peered at his apprentice, admiration growing in his chest. Suddenly he was taken back to his early days as an apprentice, when Bluefur had caught him talking to Smudge during an assessment. Tigerstar had questioned his loyalty – and rightly so.

“Have no fear, Mistypaw – I’m not here to rejoin the kittypets,” he assured. “I’m a Clan cat through and through but… it never hurts to remember where you came from.”

Mistypaw glanced at the Twolegplace behind her. She shuddered. “Why would any cat want to live with Twolegs?”

Tinystar purred. “Mistypaw – living with Twolegs is something like living in a Clan. You take care of each other like Clan cats do, just in different ways.”

Mistypaw’s tail bristled. “But they’re so much bigger than us! How can they ever understand us? Where’s the freedom?”

“Well,” Tinystar went on, “you’re right about that – there are major differences, and the Twolegs do often seem very controlling. Some are downright mean – but you could say the same for some Clan cats, you know? A Twoleg… they’ll treat you like you’re a kit more than not, but it’s never out of malice. They just want to keep you safe.”

Mistypaw curled her lip. “I don’t like it!” she insisted. “I can keep myself safe! They’d never understand that.”

“No, no they wouldn’t,” Tinystar agreed. He thought of the she-cat in the window, who would hardly leave her nest without a Twoleg’s permission. Who would only eat when they fed her. There were trade-offs for both ways of life.

Tinystar took a deep breath. “Mistypaw… ThunderClan will always be my priority – but I won’t deny that I want to see Cloudtail’s mother, Fiona, sometimes. No one in the Clans will ever forget that I was once a kittypet… and I can’t, either.”

Mistypaw frowned. “The elders… they tell a story about Pine – a cat from ThunderClan who…”

“… Who left his post as leader to become a kittypet,” Tinystar finished. He recalled that story from his own apprenticeship. “I know. But that’s not me - I don’t seek to flee my responsibilities… and you oughtn’t begrudge Pine too much for wanting to flee his.”

“Why?” hissed Mistypaw in disbelief. “He was a coward!”

Tinystar’s tail rested on her shoulders. “There are pressures that not every cat is fit to handle, Mistypaw. Not every warrior is born with the forest in their heart, just like not every kittypet is filled with goose down and laziness. Every cat is different.”

Mistypaw opened her jaws, and then shut them. Her tail curled around her paws. “Sorry,” she mumbled, looking down. “I… didn’t think of it like that.”

“That’s all right,” Tinystar soothed.

Tinystar got to his paws. He raised his tail, signaling Mistypaw. “Let’s head back. We can finish my patrol on the way. Does that sound good?”

Mistypaw nodded.

Together they padded through the open field and back into the safety of Tallpines. Above them the clouds were darkening, yellowing deeply at their edges. Mistypaw trailed behind slightly, and, when Tinystar looked back, he saw that her blue eyes were clouded. Tinystar halted, turning to his apprentice.

“What is it, Mistypaw?” he wondered.

Mistypaw glanced his way, and then back to her paws. Tinystar frowned. Clearly, something was on her mind.

“You can tell me,” he coaxed. “I’m your mentor.”

“I know,” Mistypaw mumbled. She flopped onto her haunches, her tail stilling in the discarded pine needles. She looked plaintively up at Tinystar, her eyes suddenly wide and sad. “Do you think any cat will forget that I’m Bluestar’s daughter?”

Tinystar’s heart caught in his throat, a wave of empathy crashing down on him. We’re so similar, he thought, forced to prove our loyalties all the time, because there’s always some cat that will doubt us for our bloodlines.

“I don’t know,” he admitted quietly. “I’m sorry.”

Mistypaw frowned, looking back down at her paws. It was not the reassurance she’d wanted, and Tinystar felt badly about that – but what else could he do, lie to her? Promise that no one would ever judge her for who came before?

“How are you getting on with the other apprentices?” Tinystar asked.

Mistypaw frowned. “Snowpaw and Fernpaw are fine… they’re good friends. Fernpaw and I talk a lot and Snowpaw is hard to understand sometimes but… I like him.”

“And Ashpaw?”

Mistypaw squared her shoulders. “He gives me and Stonepaw dirty looks all the time,” she meowed tersely, “like… like we killed Brindleface, y’know?”

Tinystar frowned. “I’ll speak with him about that,” he decided. “That’s not fair of him.”

Mistypaw only gave a halfhearted shrug.

“And Stonepaw?” Tinystar recalled him snapping at Mousefur only yesterday.

“He’s trying really, really hard – we both are,” Mistypaw replied. Concern flashed across her eyes. “He works so hard he’s tired a lot. Sometimes he doesn’t sleep well – but, well, none of us do, really. We keep dreaming of the dogs…”

Tinystar frowned. “They’ll pass, with time,” he assured her. The rest of her report worried him deep down, but there was little he could do about Stonepaw’s sleeping habits. “I’ll tell Sandstorm to let up on him for a little while.”

“Thanks,” Mistypaw meowed. “I just want him to feel… good, you know? About his life.”

“What do you feel?”

Mistypaw shrugged again. “I don’t know – sometimes it’s good, sometimes it’s bad. I think it’ll get better once, you know… things calm down.”

Tinystar nodded. “So do I.” Was Mistypaw telling him the whole truth of her feelings? He didn’t expect her to tell him everything, really. What was Mistypaw doing differently from Stonepaw? Tinystar had no idea.

“Let’s keep moving,” Tinystar meowed. He nudged his muzzle against Mistypaw’s shoulder. “It’s going to snow soon.”

“Snow?” Mistypaw’s eyes went wide. “Really?”

———————————————————-

“This is amazing, Tinystar!”

Tinystar curled his tail around his paws.

Mistypaw had been born in the turn of leaf-bare into newleaf – she had never seen snow before now.

It was falling in fat, thick flakes from the sky, covering the ground with a thin covering of powder and quickly gathering in the crooks of every branch above. Their patrol had halted when the first flakes began to fall.

Now Mistypaw was pouncing and leaping through the snowfall, purring and screeching with delight. She was trying to catch each flake one moment and the next she was scattering them along with the damp leaves. She twirled like a kit while the snowflakes caught on her thick, plumy tail.

To Mistypaw it was a kit’s delight – to Tinystar, it was a sign of what was to come for ThunderClan. Hunger, cold, sickness… all came with the first flakes of snow. Beauty and fear for a whole season.

He looked back. They were past Tallpines now, on the trail near the quiet Thunderpath. Across the Thunderpath was ShadowClan. The snow was doubtless falling all over the forest, even there. Through the haze of snow Tinystar wondered… what was Bluestar plotting? What was she thinking?

A squeal from Mistypaw made Tinystar turn his head back to his apprentice.

She was rolling in the snow, trying to catch the flakes with her pads. Her whiskers were freckled with little white flakes, and her pelt was dusted with snowfall. Her eyes were wide like a kit’s, her mouth open in delight. She didn’t care about the coming leaf-bare, or all the troubles mounting over ThunderClan’s head – not in this moment. Right now she was young and she was playing and she was happy.

Tinystar’s tail flicked, and not for the first time he wondered...

Had Bluestar ever been the same?

[giantsphinx]

oh and, the way the sun reflects of my neighbour’s house, into my room. glowing. the grasses outside my window are also glowing, after a minute of showers. my ears glow with the warm sound of rain, off and on. the fenceboards are painted, half still to be covered by the rain, on and off. hope number one. 

[malleabletherapist]

The sun barely began to rise as Rose walked home, naked aside from some rags she found along the way. Her body slick with slime and various bodily fluids. She looked at her phone, 5% battery left, amazed it even survived the trip through the woman. “Still not the worst halloween I’ve had I suppose.” She sighed as she shifted her way through some fenceboards and entered her own yard. She looked around and discarded the rags, pushing herself under the door enough to drag the rest of her through the opening under the door. After a few minutes she popped herself back to normal and stretched, her plaster white body shining in the lights of the various electronics left in the house as she traipsed upstairs, entered her room, and immediately fell asleep halfway through falling into bed.

[100yearoldcomics]

June 25, 1922 The Captain & the Kids by Rudolph Dirks

TOP PANEL [ID: The Kids stand on the back of a small wooden chariot harnessed up to two goats, a bandana wrapped around both kids' heads. Hans holds a whip which he uses to goad the goats forward. They hurtle, horns lowered to butt, towards der Captain, who's running away with tattered clothes. /end]

MAIN COMIC [ID: Der Inspector walks up behind Der Captain, raking his garden in a big floppy hat. Smoking a cigar, he happily presents der Captain with two billy goats, who start eating the plants in Cap's garden. /end] Inspector: See der cute liddle billies vot I brung der boys! I haff named dem Hans und Fritz! Captain: NOW VOT?

[ID: Der Captain shoves them both out of his garden with the rake like shuffleboard discs. Der Inspector follows behind. /end] Captain: Viggle out of it, you lubbers! You tink I plant gardens for loafers! Inspector: Look oudt, Captain, dot ain't der vay to talk to a goat!

[ID: The goats retaliate, butting their horns into der Captain's groin and knocking him into the fence. Der Inspector crosses his arms and sternly looks on. /end] Captain: Ooof! Inspector: By gollies, der fat vuns learn slow but painful!

[ID: Der Captain sits atop the fence and whacks the goats over the head with his rake. Der Inspector storms off. /end] Captain: Der dod-rotted goat don't liff vot can bump me in der gitzard! Inspector: Good night! Vords iss vasted ven spoke to a piece of cheese!

[ID: One goat rams into the fenceboard der Captain sits on, breaking it in half and toppling der Captain off the top and into the face of the other goat. /end] Captain: Vait! Listen!

[ID: As he lands on his neck, the goats ram him from two sides at once - one in the small of his back, the other coming back from behind the fence to hit him in the gut. /end] Captain: Oonk!

[ID: Der Captain, his clothes filled with little holes, clambers back atop the fence while the goats giddily lift him up with their heads. /end] Captain: Take your time, liddle anchel-faces, der day ain't yet old!

[ID: Standing on the support beams of the fence, der Captain hooks the rake on the collars of both goats - the one on the left has a dark ribbon around its neck, the one on the right, a lace collar - and lifts them off the ground. /end] Captain: Vell? Who iss Napoleum now, you gum-doozled moiderers?

[ID: He walks across the fence and drops the goats onto a beehive. The bees, angered, swarm out of the hive onto the goats. /end] Captain: Der goats iss goating und der bees iss beezing und der goose hangs high on der vabash!

[ID: The goats run down an embankment into a body of water, the bees hot on their heels. Der Captain leans casually on his rake, held upright, watching them go with glee. /end] Captain: ...und if dot ain't plenty, it giffs plenty more in der same place!

[ID: Der Captain sits gleefully at the kitchen table, sticking his fork into a fresh stack of pancakes. Der Inspector climbs out the window next to him. Unbeknownst to der Captain, the goats, swelling with bee-stings, are sneaking around the corner towards the open kitchen doorway. /end] Captain: Tee hee, Inspector, dere names iss Hans und Fritz mit der accent on der Fritz! Inspector: Vell, dem dot von't learn, von't!

[ID: Mama & the Kids arrive home from their trip out. Der Inspector takes the Kids and puts a hand over each one's eyes. Behind them, the goat kicks der Captain and his meal out of the house. /end] Inspector: A surprise for der boys! Giff a guess vot! Hans: It's a earthquaker! Fritz: A volcano!

[letszorastuff]

Los Osos Sunroom #reclaimed #fenceboards #sunroom #vintagewindows #vintagedoors… https://ift.tt/2K66BWK

[luckyjones]

Spent some time in the yard today. Poor man's deck made out of pallets and old fenceboards, and our old pool looking swimmable after some flex-seal paint and lots of water. Woo! https://www.instagram.com/p/Bz4cJG5n71b/?igshid=1esa2bmvnw75f

[carasueachterberg]

Christmas week was joyous and dog-filled at our house. Frankie reveled in the presence of family and the presents under the tree. My mom gave me a sign that says it all –

My happiest news for you is that Daisy Duke was adopted!

Before she left, though, Nick and I took her along on his birthday trip to the Shenandoah Mountains. She was a great traveler, but just about the time I said, “I don’t know why her previous adopter said she was an escape artist….” she threw in a few parting shots.

For the past three weeks she had been Velcro-ed to my side at all times and never gotten out of crate, gate, door, or window. Honestly, I had even forgotten to worry about it.

There was a fair amount of driving involved in our adventure between getting there, climbing mountains, visiting breweries and wineries, and looking at properties.

For the first day, Daisy was excellent company for Frankie. They were both buckled into the back seat and content to look out the window when the car was in motion or chew the cheese-filled gigantic bones we had for them when parked (and not invited to come along).

The little house we rented was nestled in a valley between mountains where the sun didn’t come up until 8:30am and went down before 4pm (very conducive to napping I must say).

It had a large fenced yard surrounded by a pasture filled with goats (!). Frankie enjoyed ‘herding’ the goats whenever they ventured near the fence. Daisy was unimpressed with the goats.

The fence was pretty secure for larger dogs (or dogs with larger heads, like Frankie), but Daisy-sized dogs had many options for sneaking out between gates or under fenceboards. Each time she ventured near an exit, a quick ‘Nnnnnnttttt!” from me stopped her in her tracks and she happily moved on to other explorations.

That night Daisy slept quietly in her crate and the next morning the dogs had a few romps in the yard while I listened to the quiet. (Truly, it was so quiet I could hear the creek burble on the other side of the valley nearly a half mile away.)

In the morning, we drove to the nearby national forest and hiked three miles up a mountainside.

Daisy was awesome and Frankie served as an excellent tow-rope. On our way back down we encountered an older man hiking with three tiny Yorkies. He alternately carried one of them at a time and the others were loose. Frankie was ready for a good-natured rumble, but Daisy snarled and snapped at them—a first, as I’d never seen her react that way towards another dog. Maybe she thought they were woodland varmits?

After our six mile workout, I figured the dogs would be exhausted and sleep in the car while we went inside a brewery for lunch. The car was parked just outside the brewery door and Nick and I both went back out to check on them during our lunch. I went out about twenty minutes before we left and saw Frankie on the seat sleeping and Daisy on the floor in the back, chomping a bone. We’d tethered them out of reach of each other just in case an impromptu wrestling match started up (I didn’t want someone to inadvertently hang the other!).

When we finished our lunch and returned to the car, Daisy was sitting in the driver’s seat waiting for us, as if to say, “C’mon kids! Hop in—let’s get this show on the road!”

She had chewed completely through the nylon seatbelt that had secured her and helped herself to the rest of the treats I’d packed but seemed no worse for wear.

After that, minus a seatbelt, she roamed the car freely and caused no trouble.

But later, back at the house, she slipped out of the fence at the first opportunity, perhaps having gotten a taste of freedom and wanting more. Luckily, she didn’t go anywhere and came right to me when I called.

The day after we got home, she was adopted by a delightful couple who have a large fenced yard and warm and friendly spirit, plus a few grandchildren for Daisy to entertain. It’s a great home and lovely family. One Daisy truly deserves.

On Christmas Day, Flannery O’Connor returned. It was a first for us.

Other than Frank and a puppy who both came back within their one-week trial period, and Meredith who went from one adopter to another, Flannery was our first real returned dog. I’d say 1 for 134 is a decent record.

She is currently finishing up a ‘shut down’ period in which we’ve kept her world very small – mostly in the crate or on walks and limited interaction with new people or dogs. She was frantic and overly defensive at first, but in the last few days she has settled into her old busy-Flannery personality.

If you recall, she was always an industrious pup happy to entertain herself if no other form presented itself.

I’m sure she’ll be here amusing us for a while as she returned with a few new challenges that need to be addressed.

And then there are the puppies!

They are getting bigger, but still quite the butterballs. I’m not sure if it’s the fact that the milk fountains are so plentiful, but they are not the least bit interested in solid food as they should be since they’re approaching 4 ½ weeks. I’ve begun keeping Hula Hoop away from them for most of the day in the hopes that they’ll finally get hungry enough to give the puppy mush a try.

Weaning these puppies needs to be a priority since Hula Hoop is still deathly skinny, and desperately hungry thanks to the tapeworms she is battling.

This week the puppies will be shared with the PWL (Puppy Waiting List) and in another week, they’ll be listed on the website for adoption. If you’re in the market for a puppy, getting on the PWL is a good idea since they get first dibs on all the puppies in OPH’s nursery. I don’t expect these cuties to last long, but if you’ve had your eye on one, don’t fear because we have several litters about to appear on the website.

I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to put down the cookies and get back to my routines. I’m excited about what 2019 will bring. May it be filled with joy and lasting peace, and plenty of forever homes for deserving dogs.

Thanks for reading!

If you’d like to know more about my blogs and books, visit CaraWrites.com or subscribe to my monthly e-newsletter (which is rarely monthly, but I’m working at it…everybody needs a goal).

If you’d like to know more about the book, Another Good Dog: One Family and Fifty Foster Dogs, check AnotherGoodDog.org, where you can find more pictures of the dogs from the book (and some of their happily-ever-after stories), information on fostering, the schedule of signings, and what you can do right now to help shelter animals! You can also purchase a signed copy or several other items whose profits benefit shelter dogs!

If you’d like to know how you can volunteer, foster, adopt or donate with OPH, click here. And if you’d like more pictures and videos of my foster dogs past and present, be sure to join the Another Good Dog facebook group.

I love hearing from readers, so please feel free to comment here on the blog, email carasueachterberg@gmail.com or connect with me on Facebook, twitter, or Instagram.

Best,

 Cara

Released August 2018 from Pegasus Books and available now

    Have Dogs, Will Travel: Foster dog adventures on the road #anothergooddog goes home and a #fosterdog returns to us (plus buddha belly #puppies!) Christmas week was joyous and dog-filled at our house. Frankie reveled in the presence of family and the presents under the tree.

[mobgoblin]

lmao I sell eggs to one of my longer-standing profs, and she just realized we live in the same town so...like. Now she wants to come over and see my chickens and stuff