So, last night, a puppy came. Wandered in from the cold rain; he found a soft warm spot in my heart.
Tigger has named him Flood. You should see our creek right now; it's well past its banks.
Call the papers; call the vets; put up signs. Do I hope to find the owner, do I hope we don't? There's a little niece of mine who wants to be a vet when she grows up; but I don't know how her parents feel about taking on another dog -- losing their last one to diabetes was quite traumatic.
In my dreams, the lady and her daughter didn't lose Flood. Then why were they here, and why was the little girl so sad? And our garage was built of brick, with cracks patched and anchored once already. And what did the music mean; or was that the radio, insinuating into my dreams...
Gotta wake up.