I didn't have a lot of disposable income, so I bought a lot of potatoes, wonderful French sour cream and ate Indian take out at off hours when they had deals.

And samosas for 50p at this sandwich and donut shop in Earl's Court.

See, now y'all make me want to go back to London, except for the whole knowing it's heinously expensive part. Cause...damn, London is expensive.

But I want to travel abroad with a friend. Not by myself. All my work travel by myself I'm fine with, and a day here or there, or maybe going for a lazy beach trip, fine. But..foreign country? Checking the sights? Enjoying stuff? I want companionship. (Heck, I"d love someone romantic, but a friend would be fine too)

I really do want to cross the Pond some day. And I haven't seen much of the East Coast yet.

Some do, yes. The awesome thing is that they are balanced out by people who so do NOT suck, like this foster mom. She and her family have fostered and placed 120 dogs (pups and full grown) in the past 18 months. How awesome is that?

Saints! Bless them.

Pix, what I'm about to say is something you probably know, so please take it as the public service announcement it is meant to be.

Over and above every piece of advice I might give you about raising a great dog, please mark this next sentence as the bit I feel is most important, above all else:

--Do everything you can to completely forget anything you know, or suspect, about Awesome-to-be-named-puppy's history.

Not only is she a clean slate, free of the cognitive ability to remember her past, but any pity or anxiety you carry into that relationship can only do her ill. The very worst cases I work with are people who feel sorry for their dogs or who do not realize that a dog's mind is thoroughly in the moment...all the time. She can't remember being shot, or abandoned, or any of it.

Hagrid is a most glorious example of this. Branded vicious to dogs, historically 'dangerous' toward people and impossible to handle...(and might I add, 'old' at 10+)...now, with people who frankly didn't know enough about dogs to be anxious, he is at the top of his training class and an absolute love bug. He adores his new people and is spending no time lamenting his 'lost' family, nor musing about his misbegotten youth.

If your pup ends up with you, she will have hit the ever-loving jackpot!

I love bonny's wisdom, especially the doggie kind.

Daughter!fail. Today was my dad's 64th birthday and I just now remembered. With the lack of sleep and the very long and draining day, I got home with two brain cells to spare and they were looking to pick a fight. Gah. I lef a message that he'll get first thing, and I'll call tomorrow, but I feel like a heel.

Smonster, I did that to my grandfather the other day and I'm still feeling awful about it.

A quick first world, it's so hard to be me whine: dear lord, I am NEVER going to be done dealing with all of the friend requests on FB, am I? And oh goodness, the OH SO SERIOUS photos of some of the babybats. Bless.

a dog's mind is thoroughly in the moment...all the time. She can't remember being shot, or abandoned, or any of it.

I honestly didn't know this. I mean, I didn't think they remembered trauma in the way that a mature human mind can, but I assumed that, for instance, Chloe being skittish about people touching her nubby tail and hindquarters was because she was hurt there, and has -- I guess I would call it a sense memory of being hurt there.

Could she be skittish about being touched on her nubby because of (1) genuine pain (which the vet has never indicated is a possibility), or (2) because of *our* assumptions about it and subsequent actions (like, hesitance to touch the nubby, etc.), which she then picks up on?

a dog's mind is thoroughly in the moment...all the time. She can't remember being shot, or abandoned, or any of it.

I'm not sure I buy that. I mean, is there some neurological basis there? Or is it a pet-psychic thing? I've certainly heard the latter say otherwise.

Then again, if my frequent bellows of "DALLAS! NO!" are any indication she can't remember after sixteen frikkin years to stay out of the trash.