Ned took this picture of Lu and me last night, while I was taking a break from packing. Whenever Ned and I start talking now, Tallulah nervously enters the room and groans. Then she walks between us and puts her paw on either one of us. I think she's worried we're gonna fight, which we haven't been, but apparently she recalls when we did. Isn't that awful? I hate that I've made my dog nervous.
I don't know why she sits with her back legs splayed like E.T., but she always has. I love that dog so much I can't even stand it. Sometimes now she even sits on my feet and looks out at Ned when he and I are talking. I know she loves him as much as she does me. He's in our pack. Of which she is the leader, who are we kidding.
Tallulah seems tough and stoic, but really she's a sensitive soul.
Speaking of sensitive souls, yesterday at work a bunch of us were on our three o'clock walk, and we were just rounding the corner to be done when I saw a little dead animal on the ground. "Oh, no!" I said, to four boys who were walking with me. "There's a dead baby animal!"
"Are you sure it's dead?" asked Austin with the funny Twitter page. He grabbed a stick and gently poked at it.
AND IT MOVED. Just like my dick.
"Oh my god!" we all chorused. A Greek chorus of editors. The poor thing was teensy, and hairless, and it was horribly, unseasonably cold yesterday. "We can't just leave it out here," said Austin, who SCOOPED IT UP WITH HIS BARE HANDS.
In unrelated news, Austin is now rabid. Don't play loud music near him.
I just happened to have three fur collars in my car, left over from various vintage coats I've had. I moved them here last year, and this year as I was packing I thought, When the heck am I ever gonna use these collars again, with all my crafting skills? So I had them on top of the pile of stuff I was taking to Goodwill. I mean, what are the chances?
We made him a little nest, and as soon as he got into his fur collars, he opened his mouth and wriggled around. I think he thought he was back with his mom.
We googled it and discovered he was a baby squirrel, and we named him Squirrelly Maclaine. I called a wildlife rehab, and one of the Alexes who leaves at 4:00 took him there, so he can rehab and get off drugs. Oh, I hope he lives. Poor little Squirrelly Maclaine. Normally they'd have had me put his little nest up in a tree, because his mom would likely come get him, but they said it was too cold and he had no fur. So.
One of the things they suggested was that I take him home overnight and try to put him in the tree today, and all I could think of was...
All right, I'll talk to you tomorrow, from June's emporium of pain and wildlife rescue.