Where oh where has my old dog gone? That's what I was wondering when, for the second day in a row, Fella didn't show up at wet food time. Freckles was only too happy to help herself to his food also.

Freckles and Fella are 14 years old, and they walk like they have stiff joints. They were born out in the woods of a feral mother who would eat at our house when we put out food. She brought them to us when they were about five weeks old and then she disappeared (she was acting really sickly) two days later.

Given their age, I would not be surpised to have them go off into the woods one day and not return. (In fact, I hope they do that--they weigh about forty pounds each, which is a lot to bury. And I don't think they'd fit in the freezer till I could get someone to dig the hole.) However, I decided to check the garage and there was Fella, in "his" spot on some rags under a workbench. I didn't see him at first, but then he stirred. And he quickly followed me to the food place, where I gave him an entire can of food to make up for that which he missed.

So, I still have two dogs. And three cats, one of which decided that she didn't want to dash outside first thing this morning when it was raining seriously--seriously enough that the giant 25 lb. male went and hid in a cubbyhole. He doesn't like noisy storms. (I hate to think of how he responded to Katrina! And in a strange house, with two strange cats there.)

I spent most of the afternoon re-reading some of the source material I used for the piece that I am going to rewrite for the sample "chapter." I need to set myself a deadline for submitting the proposal. I also want to order a couple more books.

Am I ever glad that I started de-booking (and donating to the Women's Center library) because now I have some space to put the additional books.