Our new Clara is fitting in wonderfully. She requires massive amounts of chewy things and treats and hugs and loves, and the remainder of the same falls on the shorter, lower heads of Harriet and Miss Idaho so I am a new superhero. Lala actually has to hand out small gold bars when she gets home now, just so they lick her fingers again.
I spent the afternoon making the sunporch into a Clara-proof room. This is after last night’s escape: The crate! Rachael didn’t latch the top latch right, because she has an IQ less than 197! Go, go, GO! I woke up, very sleepy, thinking that the cats were playing awfully loudly for cats, even for cats with extra toes. When I went out of the bedroom, I found Clara streaking by, naked, waving her top a-la-spring-break-in-Cabo, leaving poop in the hallway and Lala’s gnawed slipper on the couch. She’s a chewer. So the sunporch is now Chew Central. She has plastic furniture and thriftstore blankets which she LOVES to chew (all dogs were interested — must have been a doggy house — I considered washing them and then thought, Why?). The room is littered with bones and antlers and cute little starfish which must DIE!
Also, the internets are out here, so that’s where I am tonight. She’s snoring at my feet. I love her.
Also: You must go read Miss Doxie’s new children’s book about naughty dogs. It is to kvell. Go now. Mwah.
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