My scruffy shih tzu bull dogge rescue has joined those who don’t want their parents zoning out on cell phones. Roscoe now paw slaps the offender, whacking the phone. […]
My heartbeat, a staccato thrum of typewriter keys, leads me to kindred souls.
I chose him. The scrappy scruffy rescued rescue stole my writing week. And my heart.
I want the blush of newborn. The velvet of rose petals. There’s nothing gentle about it. My best badass self is alive.
What I didn’t expect (duh) was how much he would grow.
My heart, after decades of comings and leavings, is a brilliant web of gold.