Buck Duckster the IIIrd, a.k.a. Little Lord Fountleroy, or Ducky
Ducky is the first chihuahua I've been well acquainted with, and now I understand why people love these little dogs. He is the cuddlingest, sweetest, quick-on-his-feet creature; he keeps a close eye on the people he cares for; he couldn't be cuter or more attentive. I am smitten. I like dogs to start with yet have never wanted one in the house to clean up after, let in and out, and so on. But Ducky? No problem; he can do no wrong. Seriously, something must be the matter with me. Or am I getting old and even more softheaded? I will hate to see him leave for home when Karen and Dick get back from their holiday in Mexico. Only one more week to enjoy the wee fellow.
Some 3000 people around the province are without power and heat due to the heavy snowfall over the weekend, but between our two houses we're perfectly snug. The roads are in rough shape and the schoolbuses didn't run today, but Scott drove Everett into town this morning so he wouldn't miss two scheduled Grade 12 departmentals. I've barely poked my nose out the door, shame on me. Will have to be sure to go for a walk with the dogs tomorrow.
It's been oh-so-quiet in the house; the wind shrieked around during the night, but today there's no sound outside of the furnace fan and Ducky's toenails on the floor when he accompanies me from one room to another. The radio's been off since late afternoon and I haven't even listened to any music. Through the window now, after dark, the yardlight glints off the fresh white snow and everything looks peaceful.
