Hazel Is Here

 So in a week of waning strength and vastly increased pain, God had an answer.

YOU NEED ANOTHER DOG.

On Sunday, on the way to church (it seems that God lacks subtlety), Barb ran across a tiny terrier, running panicked down a fast road, far from any houses. She'd clearly been dumped.

We did have her checked for a microchip... none... and there are no lost-dog signs posted. So she's home. In the photo below, she's sleeping by my pillow.

She began her ascendancy to Home Rule with Belle the Service Dog, who is mostly timber wolf. Here they are in the sorely-used mudroom...

Belle has recruited Hazel (she has hazel eyes) as an assistant...at night Hazel sleeps on my chest (YOU try moving her), and if I have trouble breathing she gets Belle to help me turn over for a clearer airway.

The interesting thing is that a few weeks ago I had a dream or vision, that Barb would find the tiniest of terriers.

Good work, God. Thanks!

I have come to dominate,

as regal as that sounds,

so just please accept your fate

from a dog that weighs four pounds.

T'was the Wolf I conquered first,

and then Roscoe the Pit,

but I saved my very worst

for the Labrador I bit.

He felt that he could stick his nose

anywhere he thought to smell,

and what, dear heart, do you suppose

to him I chose to tell?

"Go thee now, you oaf, and hide,

and next time sniff your OWN backside!"

The Five Minute Friday prompt this week is STRETCH. Not hard.

She stretches out her tiny frame,

and sounds a quiet yawn.

Hazel (her eyes!) is her name,

and our whole pack is gone

in fine sappy soppy delight

for this canine bit of fluff

that wanders through the house at night

knowing that she's tough

enough to cope with Ridgeback-Pits

who quail when she walks by,

four pounds that could tear to bits

in the twinkling of an eye

the meanest junkyard dog of all,

then hang his head upon the wall.

Five minutes flat, and that's Hazel.

Music, of course, from Sister Hazel, with All For You.

Sylvia loves hazelnut ice cream.