My children might be embarrassed to find out that their mother has blisters on the back of her heels.
Hey, these things happen! Here’s my story and I’m sticking to it:
My new computer has not arrived so I’m still working on the one with the floppy screen, propping it up with a pillow in my lap. To keep the pillow from falling, I put my feet up on the footstool and yes, the coffee table. If it begins to slip, I slide my heels to try and prevent it. The friction has blistered my heels.
To give my heels a rest, I’m going to make this a quickie.
Here are some photos from friends that I’ve wanted to include in a post. One of the friends works in a reduced fare spay/neuter clinic which does much work for rescue operations. She and her husband have taken two of the homeless dogs brought in there, bringing the canine population in their home to three. The dog they already had at home was a beautiful, gentle female rescued after someone tossed her and her siblings out of a car in a cardboard box several years ago.
One of her newer adoptees, a solid black mix from an orphaned litter, has grown into a beautiful, silky dog. He enjoys having his teeth brushed and indulges an underwear fetish, searching until he finds something lacy to sleep with at night.
The latest adoptee, a German Shepherd, was brought to the clinic to be spayed after a landlord found her alongside another dog which had already died. The tenants had moved out and left the two dogs tied to a tree without food or water. The Shepherd was 15 pounds underweight.
The animal was covered with ticks–my friend stopped counting at 300 as she removed them–and subsequent lab tests showed that she has three tick-related diseases–much medication ahead. They had to remove the ticks by hand because the spay surgery meant she couldn’t have a bath for two weeks. At first she would lie down submissively and cry if people clapped their hands or raised their voices. Now she holds her ears up perkily and plays with the other dogs. At night she says her prayers by putting her head in their laps and wagging her tail. Thank you for taking me in.
They named her Courage.
Another friend, a cat person, had lost her beloved cat shortly after she had replacement knee surgery–on both knees. Her husband ignored her insistence that she didn’t want another cat. She’d embraced the “no more litter box” way of life and vowed to ignore any cat he brought home; he swore he’d be sole caretaker of feline and litter. He brought two home. . . and they loved my friend back to health.
The cats have retired from nursing duties and now practice synchronized snoozing for hours.
These last photos were taken by my friend Dirtwoman on the front porch of her Arkansas lake house. That’s an Eastern Phoebe nest (says she who really has not the slightest clue!) I was simply fascinated by the nest.
Framed by a silky cobweb….