Various updates

No news about the young man referenced in my last post. His injuries were very grave and the doctors and family were "waiting to see" how things went. My Hebrew Bible professor made note, in a poetry class, of the dramatic mood swings in some of the Psalms; they remind me of what it is like having a loved one in ICU. A number is better than expected: euphoria! Until the next set of numbers, with new problems.

Toby Wolfhound is quite possibly the sweetest puppy in the world. It took him about 12 hours or thereabouts to decide that I was someone important, perhaps his Mommy, and he has been wonderfully affectionate. He LOVES the terrors, who in turn are teaching him Very Bad Things. He is really scared of the big wide world; in the world he inhabited before, there were lots of dogs and a person or so, and to his amazement the situation appears reversed once we leave our yard. It seems he can scarcely imagine so many people; he is gobsmacked, he wonders why on earth there are so many of us. I sympathize. Toby loves to be snuggled; all 75 pounds of him. He likes to lie on his back with front paws tucked for a chest scratch/belly rub, and he likes it if I stretch out with him for a nap. His temperament is quite soft and shy although he does love to play with the Terrors, especially the Oldest and Bossiest Terror, and goes flying through the air to land with a big thump in front of her, or on top of a toy. I've gotten him a toy shaped like a cartoon cat--it's called Awful Mad Kitty--and he loves to pounce on it, shake it vigorously, and chew it. I may be creating a monster by saying, "Toby, GET that cat. GET THE CAT." He's just so funny, so intent, puppywise, in his play. That's one of the things about giant breeds that both makes one laugh and drives one over the edge: here is this big dog, bigger than many retrievers, and he is all puppy, all the time. He really, really isn't mature; he really, really DOESN'T know much. But he is surpassingly cute and huggable, and what could be better?