We heard about a couple of dachshunds who needed a home--and fast--from our petsitter, and thought we should have them over, just in case Shwea took a shine to them.
Well, they were adorable, as one would imagine, but not to Shwea. They were a hair-raising, snarl-inducing duo who left her shaken, not stirred. The older one wasn't the issue; it was the younger, un-fixed one who thought Shwea's Back 40 was fascinating--he was the problem.
Oh well, it was worth a shot.
There are other people interested in the dogs, happily, so it's not as though we were the last stop before the gallows.
Still, it would have been nice to have a little more animal life around here--but these two were too much for our reigning animal, Her Highness Shwea.
And whatever Shwea wants, Shwea gets......
This address in a small Midwestern factory town was the launching pad for a life that has been messy, painful, Catholic, overseas, underpaid, in denial, in recovery, coming out, standing up, increasing glorious (if flawed), and under construction for over 50 years.
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