My dear, old, black dog passed away about three weeks ago now. I surprised myself with some dark days that I hadn't expected. Seems the mean old dog was more ingrained in our routines than we ever imagined. Byron had seen some little abandoned pups just a few days before Blackie passed away. He thought a new dog right away was a good idea. I wasn't so sure. It took us two weeks or so just to get around to finally naming the little critter. Just before the retreat of this past weekend we more or less chose to call her - Tiny. And what do you do with a little dog that wakes all hours of the night for its milk when a four day retreat comes around? You have to take it, and its box, and its milk, and its food, and its old sock to chew on. I wasn't sure how any of this would work out. But in the end it did. And I even found a little joy in the process... Do not sorrow, for the joy of the LORD is your strength
Just a mama trying to bloom where she is planted in the dry Northeast of Brazil.