Tiny Isobelle, less than a pound and small enough to fit in a teacup, has completely immasculated my dog. Since her arrival late last night, he has stalked, barked, paced, barked and barked at this tiny kitten, until he's made himself sick and all the humans crabby. Isobelle is the picture of calm control. It is only when he gets close enough that she can feel his hot breath blowing back her silky fur that she attacks. Tiny claws aimed right for his vulnerable nose. Watching them this morning reminds me of the relationship between men and women. Like Isobelle, we usually know when to pick our battles, and we usually win.
Pap and the Bean made the long drive to Eastern Ohio yesterday. Reconnaisance to insure the grand girls Mom really did have a house. They're supposed to spend the summer with her. It's a shame my oldest talks better fiction than I write. When small lives are in the balance, I prefer facts.