Lay down with dogs...

It's cold out this morning. The ground is completely white with frost and after more than a week with temperatures in the 70s, cold like this is going to be hard to get used to again. But January is supposed to be the coldest of our winter weather, after all, so I guess we should have a little of it before everything turns all shorts and sweat for the next many months. The warm weather has come with serious side effects - garden planning. Evidently it begins when the temperatures hit 70 for two days in a row, and it appears it's definitely contagious. The seed catalog sitting on the livingroom table is full of circled items. Tucked neatly inside the folds of the catalog is several pages of roughly drawn, garden layout designs. Somebody has the fever and it's looking like it's going to be expensive to treat. Garden planning isn't the only evidence of illness either - twice I've hung laundry on the line - desperate to have again the scent of sun induced slumber I've actually doubled up on laundry days to include clothes and bedding because we've all missed the comfortable, line-dried sheets. Today is laundry day, but nothing's going on the line this time. It's too cold.
I noticed this morning while loading the washing machine that I didn't have a single pair of pants in the basket. Not that I don't wear pants in the winter, I do. It's just that the kind of pants I tend to wear have the word sweat attached to them. Come to think of it, I rarely wear jeans in the summer either. When the sun is blistering and humidity is high I much prefer loose, lightweight cotton over denim and I have to wonder why do I even have jeans at all? All this I thought of this morning while loading the washing machine and in an effort to do something about it, and so I can't be called the lazy girl that only wears sweats, I kept my pajamas on. They're crushed velvet.

What? It's a step.

Yesterday my father-in-law had heart surgery. When all was said and done he'd had a total of SIX by-passes on his heart, and another blocked artery cleared in one of his legs. It's a wonder he's never had a heart attack before. The surgeon was pleased as punch at how the surgery went - one of the easiest he's ever done, he said. Just perfect.
Now all that's left is the getting better part - and probably some major changes in diet, probably, in an effort to keep him from becoming again as clogged as a child that eats gum.

And in other news it looks like one of our first Min Pin foster babies is pending adoption. The woman that is interested in him sounds as excited about it as I am, and she seems to be an absolutely perfect match for what that little guy needs. I hope it all works out.
We're having great fun with the fostering. Since Christmas Eve we've received four dogs total, three of which are still here with us - one permanently (my sweet old man). The latest arrival was Cindy - an adorable ten year old puppy mill femals with a face that's gone white as snow and big black circles around her eyes that make her look very much like the twin of Alice Cooper. She's a sweetheart, and chasing around the old ones is definitely easier than chasing the three year old Dobie. Then there is the ever scrawny little Peanut who, in spite of the fact that he eats his bodyweight in food daily, still has the Starvin' Marvin look about him that he came here with. He's heavier in feel, still near death in appearance. He looks like a little giraffe.

And in the "You lay down with dogs, you'll get up with..." department, I submit the following two photos. It was a stressful day yesterday, waiting for updates from the hospital, and we accomplished little. Jake, on the other hand, finished early and found himself with free time to relax. It started out just great - peaceful, relaxing, rip-snoring good fun. But the pictures that follow reveal a surprise ending that nobody saw coming...