A Place for Fido, Fitgers, Duluth, Minnesota. The stuffed toy display is straight ahead on the left.
Yesterday I went to a boutique pet store to buy my grand-dog Nellie a stuffed toy for Christmas. Next to the toy display stood a black, brown, and white, medium-sized dog. The dog looked at me and wagged its tail. Its big brown eyes were merry and its toothy smile was bright, so I asked its people, “May I pet your dog?”
“Of course,” said the woman, “she loves that.”
After petting the dog, I turned to the toys. I wanted one that didn’t squeal, squeak, groan, moan, or crackle because when my grand-dog sinks her teeth into one that makes noise, she is relentless.
The tri-colored dog turned with me. She watched me select toy after toy and squeeze it. The dog and I began a conversation.
“This one’s too high pitched,” I said to her.
“It sounds good to me. I like that toy,” the dog’s eager face said.
“This one makes a low noise,” I said. “It might work.” I kept it in my hand instead of hanging it back up.
Yeah, don’t even think about it — my grand-dog is cuter than your grand-dog.
“It sounds good to me. I like that toy, too.” The dog’s eager face filled with anticipation. She wanted a toy, but she was too well-mannered to do more than drop a hint. (My grand-dog is a Vizsla and she would have reached up and grabbed the toy. She’s not rude, mind you. She’s very, very sweet, but she’s a Vizsla. They’re impulsive. They’re enthusiastic. They’re larger than life.)
I tested toy after toy, telling the dog that each one was too loud, and each time the dog looked at me and the toy in my hand and answered, “It sounds good to me. I like that toy.”
I looked at the dog’s kind face. “My grand-dog will drive me crazy with these toys,” I told her. I decided even the toy that made a low noise was too noisy, so I hung it back up. I walked around the back of the display to see if there were more toys.
At this point I realized I’d been talking with the dog for several minutes while her owners looked at products on a display rack opposite the stuffed dog toys. Other than asking for permission to pet their dog and telling them I had a dog at home, I’d ignored them. It occurred to me this might be considered rude. It occurred to me that carrying on a conversation about noisy dog toys with a dog I’d just met might be considered strange. But in my defense, the dog was a good conversationalist.
I turned to look at the dog’s mother. “I guess you might think I’m a bit strange, standing here in a store having a conversation with your dog.”
“Not at all.” The woman smiled warmly. “I talk to her all the time. I would think it strange if you didn’t want to talk to her.”
Nice of her to say. I talk to my dog all the time too.
The owners and their dog moved on. And I wondered if they had stayed longer than they had wanted, thinking it rude to interrupt their dog’s conversation with a lady who was trying to find the right toy for her grand-dog.
I did find the right toy for Nellie. A nice clerk helped me find the only toy in the store without a squeaker. It looks like a cross between a squirrel and a beaver. Maybe it’s a woodchuck. Doesn’t matter. It’s nice looking, well-made, and quiet.
When I returned home from A Midsummer Night’s Dream, a mystical moonscape greeted me.
Last night I went to see a high school production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Student actors dressed in colorful, eclectic, whimsical costumes, creating shimmering visions on the stage. They recited Shakespeare’s verse, never stumbling over their words. As the love potion delivered by Puck caused chaos and confusion, the energetic actors made their way on and off the stage, delivering humorous lines, catching the audience up in laughter. All of this on a stage decorated with cut-out trees so enchanting in their color changes, they almost stole the show.
During the quieter moments of the performance. I thought about the many high school and college plays I have seen over the years. All of those young people working together to create a moment of magic on a stage. A moment that would never be the same as the performance that came before, or the one that would come next. I thought about the long hours drama students spend rehearsing, creating sets, lighting the performance, making costumes. How they pass their time together, forging friendships and romances, talking about life and their dreams. Cracking inside jokes that only they understand, the bond of a shared experience. I thought about how young they are, with their whole lives ahead of them. I thought about how once these young thespians leave high school or college, they might never act upon a stage again.
Then I thought about Tom Lake by Ann Patchett, which I recently read and loved. Tom Lake is a story within a story. Lara Nelson, now in her fifties, owns a cherry orchard with her husband. Set in 2020 during the COVID lockdown, Lara’s three adult daughters are staying at the farm with their parents. Because of the pandemic, the family of five works the cherry farm without the usual hired help. Picking cherries is time-consuming, monotonous work. To pass the time, Lara, in a series of flashbacks, recounts the story of her summer in Tom Lake, where as a young woman she performed in a summer stock production of Our Town by Thornton Wilder. Even though Patchett’s novel is set during COVID, it’s not about the pandemic–at all. It’s a beautifully written, heart-wrenching coming of age story.
Last night as I watched the young actors perform, I wondered about their coming-of-age stories. I thought about my own coming-of-age stories.
And that is what good literature does. It slumbers in a corner of your brain, until something in your present world nudges it, and it lives once again in your imagination, giving meaning to both the world that is your life and the world of make believe.
I forgot to take a picture of the pancakes after they were fresh out of the pan, but I think the dogs are more interesting! Ziva (l) and Bogey (r), my mom’s dog
After I made the Pumpkin Bundt Cake, I had six ounces, or 3/4 of a cup, of pumpkin left. (Cooking math is the most important kind of math, and if I could go back in time to my freshman algebra class, I would tell Mr. W, “Who cares about solving for x — there is no x in cooking!”)
So, what to do with the leftover pumpkin? I hate to throw food away. It’s like throwing money in the garbage. And there are other more important considerations when food is thrown away. The waste ends up in landfills. The energy used to raise, cultivate, package, and distribute the food has been wasted. All that investment and those expended resources with no caloric intake to show for it. And as weather patterns change, food will become more scarce.
My husband suggested I make pumpkin pancakes, so I found a recipe that called for a 1/2 cup of pumpkin. All you math phenoms will know this left me with two ounces or a 1/4 cup of leftover pumpkin. (Now, I’m just showing off my math skills.)
This morning I made a batch of pumpkin pancakes, which yielded nine pancakes. We have a few leftover, but my husband will eat them. I put sliced bananas and maple syrup on mine. My husband opted for butter and maple syrup on his.
I still have two ounces of pumpkin. I could try making a pumpkin spiced latte, but that looks like a lot of work, and I don’t have anything to froth the milk. I could try feeding some to my dog, Ziva, but she’s turned her nose up at pumpkin in the past. I could just eat it. I tried a teaspoon when I made the cake, and it’s not bad. The two ounces are back in the fridge. I think I’ll mix them in with my oatmeal along with a sliced banana.
Simply Pumpkin Pancakes
Ingredients
Yields 4 servings of two pancakes each. (I ended up with nine pancakes.)
1 ¼ cups all-purpose flour
¼ cup white sugar
2 teaspoons baking powder
½ teaspoon ground cinnamon
¼ teaspoon ground nutmeg
1 cup milk (I used whole milk)
½ cup pumpkin puree
1Â egg, beaten
1 tablespoon vegetable oil
Directions
Sift flour, sugar, baking powder, cinnamon, and nutmeg together in a bowl.
Whisk milk, pumpkin, egg, and oil together in a bowl. Pour milk mixture into flour mixture and stir until just moistened. Batter will be slightly lumpy.
Heat a lightly oiled griddle over medium-high heat to 350 degrees F. Drop batter by large spoonfuls (I used a ¼ measuring cup) onto the griddle and cook until bubbles form and the edges are dry, 1 to 3 minutes. Flip and cook until browned on the other side, about 1 minute more. Repeat with remaining batter.
Yesterday I made a pumpkin bundt cake from scratch. I discovered the recipe on the blog In Diane’s Kitchen. I’m proving a point to Betty Crocker.
On Tuesday I called Betty Crocker. Well, not a real Betty Crocker because she doesn’t exist. Instead, I talked to a representative in the General Mills customer care department. I lodged a complaint because Betty Crocker cake mixes have shrunk — again.
For most of my life, cake mixes were 18.25 ounces. I have some great cake recipes that call for an 18.25-ounce cake mix and build from there, like a decadent chocolate rum cake and a tasty pistachio cake. So about ten years ago when the cake companies dropped the mixes to 15.25 ounces, I wasn’t happy. At the time, I called Betty Crocker and Duncan Hines to complain. (Unlike Betty Crocker, Duncan Hines was a real person, but he died in 1959.) Neither company cared that I was concerned my cake recipes could become obsolete — 15.25 was their new standard. They weren’t rude, not at all. They were apologetic and sympathetic, but I could read between the lines — I could like it or lump it. (The phrase customer care is an oxymoron.) Fortunately, my cake recipes still worked with the 15.25-ounce size.
But last week I discovered there has been another shrinkage. Betty’s cake mixes are now 13.25 ounces. So far Duncan Hines is still weighing in at 15.25 ounces, as is Pillsbury. When I called Betty Crocker’s consumer care department on Tuesday, I told them I would no longer buy their cake mixes. I explained that I wasn’t about to experiment by using a cake mix that is 5 ounces less than the amount called for in the recipe. I further explained that if other companies followed suit, I would make all my cakes from scratch because I have some good recipes. The customer care representative was sympathetic and kept saying, “I’m sorry about that.” She said she would pass my concerns along. But I know nothing will change, except in the future when the cake mix loses more weight.
You can google to find out how much extra flour and other ingredients, like baking soda, to add to the prepared mix. But go ahead and call me “my father’s daughter” on this one: I’m not buying a product then adding what the company should have added in order to make up the difference. One website suggested buying two boxes of cake mix, and adding six tablespoons from the second box to the first box. Then I was to seal up the leftover cake mix and save it to use for other cakes. AS IF!
So yesterday to prove my point to Betty Crocker, I made a pumpkin bundt cake — from scratch. Because I follow the blog In Diane’s Kitchen, the recipe landed in my email a couple of weeks ago. Pumpkin mixed with a dash of cinnamon, ground cloves, and ground ginger makes this cake taste like a slice of autumn. It has the consistency of a pound cake, which pairs well with coffee. And, in my experience, baking a pound cake is more forgiving than baking a regular cake.
Some thoughts to keep in mind if you make this cake:
Diane recommends eating the cake with vanilla ice cream. I’d go with a creamy vanilla custard. However, this recipe calls for three sticks of butter and six eggs, so I skipped the ice cream. I’ve never baked a cake recipe that called for six eggs. This reminded me of one of my all-time favorite novels City of Thieves by David Benioff. Set in Russia in WWII, the two main characters in the novel have been arrested and are to be executed. However, a powerful Soviet colonel promises to pardon them if they can find a dozen eggs for his daughter’s wedding cake. There is war and famine, but the colonel wants his daughter to have an elegant wedding and a big cake, and so an epic quest for a dozen eggs begins. And this bundt cake? That might serve twelve people at the most? It gets six eggs!
The recipe Diane shared says to spray the bundt pan with cooking oil. I used Baker’s Joy. When it was time to remove the cake from the pan, it came out like a dream.
Diane noted that while the recipe said to bake for 60 minutes, she needed to bake the cake for 64 minutes. So did I, but I started with 60 minutes.
I will make this cake again. It was worth the extra time and effort. Besides while I made the cake, I listened to A Lady’s Guide to Gossip and Murder, the second book in Dianne Freeman’s Countess of Harleigh Mystery series.
[To read my review of Freeman’s first book in the series, click here.]
Look carefully. Grandchild #3 is nestled between the fish.
My grandkids didn’t have school today, and they don’t have school tomorrow, so they came to my house. I was hoping for nice weather because I planned to take them on a hike to Lost Falls in Cornucopia, Wisconsin, today, and to Cascade Falls near Grand Marais, Minnesota, tomorrow. But rain, cold, and winds up to 30 mph said differently.
Instead we went to the mall. Our first stop was the bookstore, where I bought each grandkid two books for Halloween. Then we hiked to the indoor playground. While they played, I took out my book — A Samuel Pepys Mystery: The Brampton Witch Murders by Ellis Blackwood — and I began to read.
About fifteen minutes later, my first grandchild came for her book — Dipper’s & Mabel’s Guide to Mystery and Nonstop Fun! — and she began to read.
A few minutes after that, my third grandchild came for his book — The Wild Robot by Peter Brown — and he began to read.
Not to be left out, my second grandchild came for his book — Demon Slayer Kimetsu No Yaiba #1 by Koyoharu Gotouge — and he began to read.
My fourth grandchild ignored the trend and kept playing on an interactive screen. He enjoys its puzzles, games, and coloring app. He read his book — Creepy Carrots! by Aaron Reynolds — on the way home.
I didn’t give my grandkids candy for Halloween. They’ll get a stash of it tonight when they trick or treat in the rain and cold and wind. I gave them candy for the imagination.
The welcoming red door to Honest Dog Books. It’s a humble entry into an amazing interior.
Bayfield, Wisconsin, has two wonderful bookstores: Honest Dog Books and Apostle Island Booksellers.Last week I wrote about Apostle Island Booksellers. Today, I will write about Honest Dog Books.
Inside Honest Dog — there are more books to the left and the right!
Yes, your dog is welcome in the store. And yes, treats will be provided for your dog while you shop for books. Also, you might meet the shop dogs, Elton and Matt — unless they’re at the beach or in the woods. (If I ever come back as a dog, I want my human to be a bookstore owner!)
Honest Dog’s courtyard
When you walk into Honest Dog Books, it’s like entering a cozy rustic lodge. Warm wood tones gather you into a big bear hug.
The store is stocked with loads of wonderful books. You will find classics and new releases; local authors from Wisconsin, Michigan, and Minnesota; books on the great outdoors; and books for people of all ages. And yes, books about dogs, fiction and nonfiction.
You can walk in the front door of Honest Dog, buy a book, and walk out the back door into a beautiful courtyard, a wonderful place to sit and read the first chapter of your new book or talk about books with a friend.
If you walk through the courtyard, you will enter a separate space called the Dog House where you can buy rare used books and vinyl records displayed in a small charming building with painted murals of book spines. The book-painted stairs lead back to the courtyard. The books painted on the inside of the garage door decorate the ceiling when the door is open on a nice day. On a cold or rainy day, the painted books become part of the wall.
What’s on your to-be-purchased list?
So, what did I buy at Honest Dog Books? The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time by Mark Haddon. The book has been on my to-be-purchased list for a long time, and it seemed right to buy it at Honest Dog Books.
During COVID, Honest Dog Books hosted author talks via Zoom. At a time when in-person social events were severely limited and businesses were closed, Honest Dog’s Zoom events gave readers and writers a chance to talk to authors. It also gave authors a way to launch their books during the lockdown. I will forever be grateful for the evenings spent meeting writers and listening to them talk about their books. It helped ease the isolation of COVID.
Below are the books that I bought — and loved — from Honest Dog during COVID after meeting the authors on Zoom. They are listed in no particular order.
Fox & I: An Uncommon Friendship by Catherine Raven, a memoir
Welcome to the Goddamn Ice Cube: Chasing Fear and Finding Home in the Great White North by Blair Braverman, a memoir
Icebound: Shipwrecked at the Edge of the World by Andrea Pitzer, nonfiction history
To read a post from February 2021 about my joyful experience of ordering books from Honest Dog during a brutal cold snap in the middle of COVID. Click Here.
Apostle Island Booksellers: A Store with a beautiful cover, and a stunning interior
The view after walking in the front door
Bayfield, Wisconsin, has two wonderful bookstores: Apostle Island Booksellers and Honest Dog Books. Every time I visit Bayfield, I visit both places. I will talk about Apostle Island Booksellers in this blog, and Honest Dog Books in an upcoming blog.
Apostle Island Booksellers is small but gorgeous, and stocked with a wonderful selection of books. Walking through the front door, transports me back in time, into a warm and cozy and other-worldly space. A creamy-white tin ceiling with old-fashioned lights — the kind that bring old schoolhouses and libraries to mind — hangs over the natural-colored wood floors. Windows trimmed in decorative molding, wooden shelves, brick accents, and an old area rug catch my eye. But it’s the colorful covers of books that win over, and I look for something to take home with me.
A romantic corner, the perfect place to fall in love with a book.
I walk around the front part of the bookstore, then head for the small back room tucked away like a treasure. As I go, my eyes scan titles and cover art. Along the hallway and in the back room, more books are displayed, making use of every available place to shelve a book. I’m happy to see the room around the corner is unchanged. It has what every bookstore should have: a place for a reader to sit and read a few pages of a book, to see if it’s a good fit.
I think I’ve made up my mind about which book I will buy, but I finish looking around the store before I pluck Slaughterhouse Five by Kurt Vonnegut from its spot on the shelf. My nephew suggested I read it, and I’ve also read that it’s one of Vonnegut’s best.
I discover another book, The Shipping News by Annie Proulx, and snap a picture of its cover. The synopsis intrigues me, but I will think about this book. I might borrow it from the library, or buy it at another bookstore, or buy it from Apostle Island Booksellers the next time I’m in town. Like other book lovers, I wish I could buy all the books that catch my fancy, but I’m limited by the coins in my purse and the space in my home. And my mind becomes uneasy if my To-Be-Read piles mushroom too quickly on the flat surfaces in my home.
While I pay for my book, the clerk and I strike up a conversation about British literature. We are both huge fans and discover that in our early years, we read almost nothing else but British literature. Her love of British authors started with Shakespeare when she was in ninth grade. My love started with Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes stories when I was in seventh grade.
I slip my new book into my large purse, and head to Honest Bog Books. I have one more book to buy.
After fifty-three years, I believe I’m finally ready to get up on a stage and play the Wizard in The Wizard of Oz. When I performed the role in seventh grade, I developed severe stage fright. My voice, which was supposed to roar from behind a curtained booth, stuttered and whimpered instead, barely audible.
Saturday night I went to see Liberace & Liza, A Tribute at the Depot Theater in Duluth. David Saffert and Jillian Snow, two excellent entertainers, became Liberace and Liza for the evening. The show was a wonderful ninety-minute escape into a bygone era from my youth. My sisters and I grew up watching TV variety shows starring Liberace, Dean Martin, Carol Burnett, Sonny & Cher, and Flip Wilson.
Near the end of their act, Liberace and Liza performed a skit called “Liberace OR Liza.” They explained they would read scenarios, and two volunteers from the audience would take turns guessing if the statement was about Liberace or Liza. However, when they asked for two volunteers to come up on stage, the audience went silent. Finally, Liberace and Liza encouraged a young man from the second row to join them. The man, named Kevin, wore a black T-shirt and a pair of gold sequined pants. I had seen him forty minutes before the show started. I had admired his outfit, figuring it was a nod to Liberace and Liza, who both loved sequins. But I had also wondered if he would be part of the show.
No one else raised a hand.
I waited. I mulled it over: a chance to perform with Liberace and Liza, who kept pleading for a second volunteer. All I would have to do was smile big and answer questions in a cheerful, audible voice. I thought some more. I had a chance to be part of a variety show, even if it wasn’t televised. I could smile big and have some fun. After all, I reasoned, the real Liberace was a hometown boy from Milwaukee, so I should help him and Liza. I, too, was born in Milwaukee, and lived there until I was five, when we moved to Franklin, which is still in Milwaukee County.
I stuck my hand high in the air and volunteered.
I was sitting near the back of the theater, so I had a long walk to the stage. Pushing aside the memory of my seventh-grade acting failure, I strode forward, feeling confident and fearless — I became Quiz-Show Contestant on her way to win jubilantly or lose gracefully.
When my sisters and I watched the real Liberace on TV, he performed in flashy colorful sequined outfits. His fingers, festooned with diamond-and-gold jewelry, flew up and down the keys on a golden piano that sparkled with mirrors and rhinestones. The combination of his fast-paced piano playing and his never-ending glitz mesmerized us. If he had played a plain piano while wearing a black tuxedo and using bare fingers, my sisters and I would never have noticed him, even if he had kept the same frenetic playing style. Liberace was an excellent showman who understood how to sell an image.
Before I went to the tribute show, I looked up Liberace and learned that from the 1950s to the 1970s, he was the highest paid performer in the world. I also learned that serious music critics panned his piano-playing skills, to which he responded, “I’m crying — all the way to the bank.”
Once on the stage, Liberace and Liza explained the rules of the quiz to Kevin and me. I smiled. I had no sense of dread or wishing they would get on with it, so I could go back to my seat. I was having fun. Liberace wore a sequined red-white-and-blue, stars-and-stripes themed jacket with long red fringe dangling from its sleeves; a pair of matching sequined hot pants; red-white-and-blue knee highs; and sparkling shoes. Liza wore a red-sequined top and pants, loosely covered by a flowing, floor-length black gauzy garment. Under the stage lights, the gold sequins on Kevin’s pants lit up like fireflies. I wore mostly black, sans sequins. My only bling was a pair of subdued silver earrings and two small rings.
My consolation prize, which I will treasure
Kevin’s personality matched the sparkle of his pants, and he embraced his role. I didn’t try to upstage him. I became the calm, composed character next to Kevin’s funny-guy schtick. I smiled, made a few restrained theatrical gestures, and answered three questions, earning one point. Using grand theatrical gestures and hammy facial expressions, Kevin answered all three of his questions correctly, so he won the big prize. I received a consolation prize, a very cool Liberace & Liza tribute sticker. Liberace and Liza shook hands with me and thanked me. I shook Kevin’s hand and congratulated him. I had become Quiz-Show Contestant Losing Gracefully. But I smiled because I was triumphant in defeat — not once did I experience stage fright, and I had a great time. I even wished there had been someone to take a picture of me up on the stage.
Liberace took my hand and escorted me off the stage. For a moment, as I made my way back to my seat, I wished that I could have felt fearless and confident in seventh grade while playing the Wizard. But my self-assured debut with Liberace and Liza made up for my seventh-grade acting debacle.
Kevin’s big prize was to be serenaded by Liza while he sat on a stool upon the stage. He embraced this with delightfully comic acting, even singing along with Liza near the end of the song. And, although he sang off key and seemed unsure of the words to the song, something about Kevin and Liza’s bit made me think he may have been a plant in the audience. I had even thought about this when he was encouraged to volunteer. On the one hand, Liberace’s and Liza’s interactions with Kevin seemed so spontaneous, but on the other hand, could they really leave finding the perfect contestant to chance? One who would be able to ham it up with Liza as she sang to him? Even Kevin’s outfit made two arguments. Had he dressed to be part of the act or had he just been an enthusiastic audience member? Either way, his glittering gold pants sure looked good on stage, making him the perfect accessory to Liberace and Liza.
The intrigue around Kevin’s role made it even more fun for me. I know someone I could ask, who would probably tell me if Kevin was a plant or not, but I don’t want to spoil the magic and mystery of the moment. Besides, Kevin was perfect up there. I would not have been as entertaining if Liza had had to sing her heart out to me.
Liberace, Liza, and Kevin didn’t realize it, but I did win the bigger prize. I had zero stage fright, and I didn’t worry if I was going to look silly. Something else that Liberace and Liza didn’t know, but the warmth and good humor they had exuded throughout their show, let me know I would be in kind hands if I went up on the stage
Wisdom doesn’t belong to seventh graders playing the Wizard. But thankfully, I have gained some as I have aged: Smile big, have some fun, and don’t be afraid to be silly. That’s what I did. And that’s what Liberace, Liza, and Kevin did.
Ziva is pretty much back to her old self this morning.
Ziva loves to be with the grandkids when they visit. March 2024
Yesterday morning Ziva met Dr. F, a new vet, and Ziva loved her immediately, but she loves everyone. I really liked the new vet, too; although, I refrained from leaning my head against the vet’s leg and nuzzling her.
I had been nervous about having a stranger examine Ziva because she already has two other vets, Dr. J. and Dr. M., who treat her. I wanted Ziva to see one of the vets who currently care for her. But now we have three wonderful vets to choose from, which might make it easier to get an appointment when we need one.
From Tuesday, when I made Ziva’s vet appointment, until Thursday, when Ziva saw the vet, she had improved. However, I had videos on my phone to show the vet, so she could see how poorly Ziva had been moving in the previous days. The vet examined Ziva and determined that she most likely had a soft-tissue injury that needed to heal. The vet recommended increasing Ziva’s Librela shots for her osteoarthritis from every four weeks to every three weeks, giving her a three-to-five-day course of an anti-inflammatory medicine, and monitoring her movements.
Monitoring Ziva’s movements is the tricky part. Because when she feels better, she likes to run up the side of the house. She likes to run out to the front yard and prance around while she barks at a squirrel scrambling up a tree or a passing dog or the neighbor who is once again for the zillionth time mowing his lawn. Right now, I cringe when I watch her do these things, so I’ve been taking her outside on her leash. She’s limited to a couple of walks a day, but only around the block, which suits her just fine. And if I take her in the car, I put her on the leash and walk her to the back passenger door, so she can’t dance, prance, and spin in happy circles because she’s excited for a ride.
The reality is that while Ziva’s doing much better, going forward we’ll have to take care with her by limiting her exposure to situations where she could reinjure herself. But we’ll also have to make sure she is living the best life she can. This includes making sure she moves because “move it or loose it” applies to dogs too.
Writing Near the Lake 