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I had grand plans of making it to the early Easter service today. Not even to anything Sunrisey- although I was up that early to feed our animals today- but 9:00 seemed reasonable enough to shoot for when I turned in last night. (The identical 11:00 a.m. service, which I am blowing off as we speak? Sorry. I hate needing a machete to mash my way to the communion rail.)
God, apparently, had other plans for me, as I spent the hours up until about 8:40 in a bed full of thoroughly weird dreams. Even Eleanor was awake, and moderately dressed to have joined me, but it just was not to be.
Good thing, too.
A little after 9, Emily came in from outside. She has a paid gig on school breaks, dog-and-cat-sitting for some neighbors of ours who usually go away for such holidays. As she returned from their house, she saw Hogan running around in the street. Hogan's a simply gorgeous male pit whose humans live between us and Emily's house-sit. We first met him years ago, when he got loose and ran as far as our yard; we chained him up until we could get him safely home, tossed him some treats, and let him borrow Tasha's plastic water bowl. He ate the treats and, just as enthusiastically, ate the water bowl. Ours is metal now.
It's cute and all, even at his much more humongous current size, but the poor thing almost got hit running around in the street, so Em came in looking for help in rounding him up. (She'd knocked on their door and got no answer.) I tossed on some warmer clothes, found our heavy chain leash, and marched over with her, only to find the dear boy resting comfortably in his unfenced back yard. He was as sweet and unthreatening as ever, but neither did he have any intention of letting us put a leash on him.
No, Hogan went into a play bow and proceeded to race around his back yard for about 8,000 laps.
While Emily, fancying herself the Dog Whisperer, kept issuing commands to both him and me while he raced about, suddenly one, and then two, small faces appeared at their sliding back door. No doubt freaked by who these strange people were in their back yard playing with their dog. Emily implored, "Go get your mommy!"
Instead, Daddy appeared, very apologetic about the incident. Hogan's had "stay" training, he said, but sometimes he just "gets in a mood."
Fortunately, they're extending that training by installing an Invisible Fence this spring. We will recommend, though, that they speak to their fellow roaming-dog owners two doors down, whose similar-sized big baby of a dog is also a regular subject of our rescue efforts. (Eleanor thinks he's the one who ate the water bowl.) Sooner's humans found out the hard way that invisible fence fields don't work if a woodchuck chews through the low-voltage electrical lines.
So Happy Easter, whether you celebrate it in church, in the company of God's creatures outside on a gorgeous spring morning, or even not at all.
God, apparently, had other plans for me, as I spent the hours up until about 8:40 in a bed full of thoroughly weird dreams. Even Eleanor was awake, and moderately dressed to have joined me, but it just was not to be.
Good thing, too.
A little after 9, Emily came in from outside. She has a paid gig on school breaks, dog-and-cat-sitting for some neighbors of ours who usually go away for such holidays. As she returned from their house, she saw Hogan running around in the street. Hogan's a simply gorgeous male pit whose humans live between us and Emily's house-sit. We first met him years ago, when he got loose and ran as far as our yard; we chained him up until we could get him safely home, tossed him some treats, and let him borrow Tasha's plastic water bowl. He ate the treats and, just as enthusiastically, ate the water bowl. Ours is metal now.
It's cute and all, even at his much more humongous current size, but the poor thing almost got hit running around in the street, so Em came in looking for help in rounding him up. (She'd knocked on their door and got no answer.) I tossed on some warmer clothes, found our heavy chain leash, and marched over with her, only to find the dear boy resting comfortably in his unfenced back yard. He was as sweet and unthreatening as ever, but neither did he have any intention of letting us put a leash on him.
No, Hogan went into a play bow and proceeded to race around his back yard for about 8,000 laps.
While Emily, fancying herself the Dog Whisperer, kept issuing commands to both him and me while he raced about, suddenly one, and then two, small faces appeared at their sliding back door. No doubt freaked by who these strange people were in their back yard playing with their dog. Emily implored, "Go get your mommy!"
Instead, Daddy appeared, very apologetic about the incident. Hogan's had "stay" training, he said, but sometimes he just "gets in a mood."
Fortunately, they're extending that training by installing an Invisible Fence this spring. We will recommend, though, that they speak to their fellow roaming-dog owners two doors down, whose similar-sized big baby of a dog is also a regular subject of our rescue efforts. (Eleanor thinks he's the one who ate the water bowl.) Sooner's humans found out the hard way that invisible fence fields don't work if a woodchuck chews through the low-voltage electrical lines.
So Happy Easter, whether you celebrate it in church, in the company of God's creatures outside on a gorgeous spring morning, or even not at all.
