Outside is a blustery and chilly day here in Veryork. It's freakishly warm in the high thirties. last night the temperature never dropped below 44, and I slept with a window open as the rain fell outside. It felt like April, not December. At some point in the night Gibson busted out of his crate (I have no idea how) and woke me with a wet nose and wagging tail on the edge of the bed. "Fine, darling," was all I said, half awake, and he jumped up next to me and curled up right near my chest, put a head on my shoulder, sighed, and fell promptly back to sleep. I placed a groggy hand on his head and told him he was a good boy. All was forgiven from Saturday's romp. He can't help himself. I can't help loving him.
I have never known a dog who needed to be close to me this much.
The blog of author Jenna Woginrich of Cold Antler Farm. Jenna is a 33-year old full time writer. She writes about her adventures following her dream life as a homesteader, archer, falconer, equestrian, hunter, spinner, and low-rent cook. Follow along, it never gets boring!