A few weeks ago. Cold. Tiny Dog in a sweater, under the blanket, tucked into Wren's belly. Wren is always leery of the camera.
Now: 90's. Even the bat ears cannot disperse enough heat.
She gave up the princess bed, that Angela so nicely provided.
I am rummaging in my closet for an appropriate bag to put Tiny Dog in, so we can go for a bike ride. Sue and the three dogs are up north, and I just want Tiny Dog to go everywhere with me. She could not go to the cafe, nor Target yesterday. She's used to a pack; it was hard to leave her at home. She seems resigned when I tell her to stay, and burrows under a sheet, despite the heat.
