Mateo loves dogs the most, I think, but he was a bit wary.
He actually loved the BIG PARENT dogs but the little nippy guys made him a bit nervous.
Here he is with the daddy doggie. He calls every animal a doggie which sounds like dah dah, so maybe he doesn't like dogs the best after all. He does call ducks some sort of quack sound. So there's progress at least.
This was his position most of the time when the puppies were out. Attached to my knees. Hee.
Miranda was the least afraid and most comfortable with the doggies. Yesterday she made up a song called, "Why can't I live on a farm." It was a melancholy song. Moving. I told her we are going to live somewhere as soon as we can where we can have chickens, and a big garden, and maybe a goat if we're lucky.
She said that's not a real farm. A real farm includes cows and horses, of course, and a big, big barn.
I'd like the big, big barn but I told her all about what her morning routine would be if we owned a real farm.
I though, ha, that'd show her.
Didn't phase her. A girl after my own heart. A girl who dreams of pioneer, simple, do-it-yourself living but in actuality would rather not axe a chicken head off nor use an outhouse regularly.





And here is just another shot of el chubbo for Gramma Rosie.

I could punch that series in the nose at times. However, it is SO fascinating and definitley comes up in conversation. In fact TODAY I compared the forced intermingling of Repubs and Demos at tonight's State of the Union to something Capitolesque. So it's infiltrated my thinking for good...although hubby and I agreed that the writer may have eaten something upsetting before sitting down to write.






