Parting

Heather and I love movies. During our 4-years of marriage we have never paid for cable TV. This is mostly because we can't afford it, but now more so, we don't care for TV all the much. We care for movies.

I imagine it's safe to say that most people have those things that you collect, or accrue over time, things that seem to build up in your home. Ours is DVD's. Every Christmas, birthday, and sometimes anniversary, you can expect that there will be movies given and received. The result: we have a lot of movies. Our old neighbor used to come to us instead of Blockbuster to get movies she hadn't seen.

Heather and I are also planning/hoping on moving this summer. Part of moving is cleaning out lots of stuff we don't need. And we have vowed to thin out some of our 200+ DVD collection. To my surprise, THIS IS A PAINFUL PROCESS.

We went through all our movies sorting them into three piles: Keep, Maybe, and Sell. You can probably guess, the sell pile is the smallest and putting each movie in it was like saying goodbye to a long time friend. We talked and debated over sooo many in the Maybe pile, and my prediction (if I know us) is that most of those will move back over to the keep pile.

That old quote, "Parting is such sweet sorrow," is ringing true in my ears. And the silly part is, they're just movies. They're things, media, products of popular consumeristic capitalist culture: things I'm not a big fan of. But they're also part of our relationship. Many of these movies we went on dates together to see. We laughed and cried together during these movies and grew closer together. We've bonded over so many in our collection, that when it came time to part with many of them it was like getting kicked in the gut.

We first held hands during that movie. I put a move on her during this one. I grew up watching another. This one changed our view of the world, and I've never cried so hard as during that one. Yes they're just things, but somehow, we have an emotional attachment to our movies.

Anyway, here's the Sell pile. First of all, do you see any you'd like to buy? And second, what is a fair yard sale price for DVDs? I'm thinking like $3-4 per movie. What do you think?

Here we have the Maybe pile. We might be able to part with more of these if someone offered us a little more money.

And finally, here's what we couldn't part with for one reason or another. What can I say. We love movies!

Dog Theology, part 6: Greeters

When you walk through the front doors of the EC (Emergency Center) you are met by one or two friendly faces behind the front desk: the greeters. Over the past 10 months (yes, it's been that long already!) I've developed a fun and strong working relationship with the EC Greeters as we see them often in trauma situations.

There's the shorter, stout, muscular guy who looks like his growth was stunted from working out at a young age. There's the extremely short hobbit sized guy who looks like he could be a contemporary Christian musician. There's the huge-sized gregarious former pastor former chaplain turned greeter extraordinaire. There's the thin, dark gentleman who's eager to get to know people but somehow reserved about it at the same time. There's the classy lady whose hair is different every single time I see her.

When you're having a bad day, bad enough to come to the hospital, you'll be greeted by one of these who will somehow make your day a little better if only by putting you in line to see the doctor.

When I get home everyday, I have a pair of greeters of my own. Here's how it typically goes down. The moment my hand touches the handle I get barked at. Opening the door, I usually see one dog very closely and another en route, both followed by mini baseball bats (I mean tails) oscilating to and fro. My toes are stepped on, my hands get sniffed and left moist. One jumps in the air but takes great pains as she fights the urge to put her paws on me. My knees get pushed on and locked as one rubs her furry body against them. An irresistable smile overtakes my face.

When I have a bad day, I can always trust these two expert greeters to lift my spirits and make me feel loved. That's the divine gift that God gives dogs.

I also think it parallels the way God is always ready to greet us. I don't mean necessarily only when we die or whatever; but, God must be ever-ready to receive us delightfully through prayer or presence, making our day as we simply give mind to the presence of the divine.

Dog Theology, part 4: Chaplain Dog

Here' sthe third installment in my ongoing series titled Dog Theology. (See parts one and two.)

Last night Dakota got loose. It's not unusual for me to let her outside to use the facilities without a leash. She typically stays close and comes back in once she's done. But for some reason, last night she ran off.

To make a long story short, I went out in the cold wearing athletic shorts, sandals and a winter coat. Daddy was not happy. After searching for several minutes I finally spotted her trotting happily down the sidewalk toward me two buildings over.

I leashed and spanked her (yes, we spank in my house!), and she timidly followed by my side back to our apartment like an inmate walking death row. Inside, I put her in the pin which has been retro-fitted with metal bars and looks like puppy prison.

Several minutes later, I came around the corner and found Lola lying faithfully in front of the crate as if to keep her company while incarcerated. "What a good chaplain dog," I thought, "she's simply being present with Dakota." I have opportunity to learn from this dim-witted doggy.

There's a lot to be said for simply being present with someone as I visit in hospital rooms. By present, I don't mean only there physically in the room. But when chaplains talk about being present with someone we try to be presently aware of a person's suffering and fears. We try to give them words to claim their pain and permission to ask tough spiritual questions or to doubt.

For me, to be present with someone is to let him know that he is valued and that he is known. There is power in being known by other people; some would say that the deepest level of intimacy between two people is to know and be fully known by the other. It's a gift that we are able to give hospital patients which they're probably not looking for. Perhaps that why we call it being present, because it's such a gift.

Lola was being present with Dakota, because when Dakota is in the slammer Lola has no play buddy, and thus she was sad. Lola was present with her big sissy, and this K-9 example may further teach me to be present with those who suffer, with those I meet daily, and to be present with you.

Daring Dakota

To the right you can see a picture of my older dog, Dakota. She's a 4.5 year old hound mix who found us when she was approximately 8 weeks old.

Dakota is a smart puppy. She learns tricks very quickly, is highly motivated by food, follows voice and signaled commands and knows when she's in trouble before I do.

Sometimes she's too smart for her own good. In our last apartment when she would eat dirt from our house plant strewing it along the carpet she would often run into her pin as soon as I got home before we dicovered the dirty carpet. A self-punishing dog.

Recently, her cleverness has resulted in added frustration for her mommy and me. Dakota has never been allowed on any furniture. But being left alone during the day to rome the apartment by herself has apparantly led her to believe she has certain newfound priviledges.

Dakota always greets us at the door when we arrive home with an excited and adorable wagging tale. But when she's done something she shouldn't have there is no greeting. When this happens our routine is to search the apartment for a warm spot that is crinkled and matted like a furry 60 lbs something has been sleeping there.

First, it was our bed. So we began leaving things on the bed of which Dakota is afraid. She's terrified of motorcycle helmets so those worked for a while until she overcame her fear and the warm spot one day was right beside a big scary helmet.

Then we placed my hand drum on the bed. Everytime I even graze it with my hand walking by and it sounds, Dakota goes running. But, eventually she braved the dangerous drum to enjoy some bed time. Now, every morning we cover the bed with various things-drum, tool kit, clothes-just to keep her on the floor.

Thwarted from the bed, we began finding warm spots on the couch. She is wiley. This one was easy. Remembering to do it is the hard part. I plop a bar stool longways on the couch and she has no space to curl up. Thinking we'd fixed her, I came home recently to the absense of a greeting not knowing why, because the couch and bed were both dog-proofed. That's when I discovered that she had discovered the sofa chair. Yarrr!

So, because of this daring dog, before leaving the house we must cover the bed with stuff, block off the couch and sofa chair, and close the second bed room door to keep her off that bed. It's a lot of work each morning when I'm in a hurry.

Reflecting, I wonder how often God sees us like I see my dog, constantly pushing the limits trying to get away with things even though there's no chance of actually hiding it. Does God ever look at us and think, "Bad dog!"? More likely, I think God's heart responds like mine toward Dakota, eventually calling her gently and loving on her with a good rubbin, telling her I love her and that she'll always be my dog.

(And yes, the third picture is underwear on her head!)

Pie #2 Review

This is a picture of Heather's second ever home made mouth watering pumpkin pie. In a recent post I raved about how delicious her first pie was. And here I am again to praise pie number 2.

Using a different recipe, Heather concocted her second mouth watering wonder in pie form. This one, a traditional recipe, used less sugar and a fair amount of tasteful spices including ground cloves which gave it a rich flavor reminding me of grandma's thanksgiving ham.

I must say, this one tastes even better than the first which was a custard based kind of texture. This one's fluffier texture and spices combine wonderfully forming a flavorful delicacy which leave you wanting more.

She used the self-harvested pumpkin pie filling left over from last week's pie (none of that canned stuff), and there's still some left over (though not enough for another whole pie). However, all this is only half of the pumpkin, so when the rest is boiled and mashed we'll have ample amounts for yet more pies.

This excites me.

Because Heather seeks the opinions of so many Ashevillians I still have yet to bring some to my fellow chaplains in Spartanburg. I'm thinking I may have to make my own pie to bring to work; however, my co-workers may wonder why it doesn't taste as good as those I've described that Heather made.

I'm hoping for more pies between now and Thanksgiving, in fact I'm counting on them. This one was better than the last and the last one was still great, so you can start being jealous now.

Punkin Pride

Last night, my wife made a genuine, bonafide, homemade pumkin pie. Her first one, and it is delicious!!!

She didn't cop out either by using cans of pie filling. This concoction originated from a jakalantern sized pumkin peeled, chopped and boiled down to powerfully pure product. The crust was from scratch as well.

She cut up and cooked down only half the pumkin which yeilded twice as much as needed. So naturally, I'm hoping this one pumkin will result in four mouth watering pies!

The pie is quite sweet, something I enjoy more than Heather who favors flavor over large quantities of sugar. The recipe called for three items that we opted not to include.

A small amount of burbon was called for, but we didn't want to buy a bottle just to use 1 tsp of it. Not to mention I wouldn't know how to find burbon in an ABC store any better than I would a push-up bra in Victoria's Secret.

To reduce the sweetness, Heather also left out the cane syrup. And thirdly, the recipe called for Cardamom, a rare spice. After visiting two grocery stores to find it, we decided to go without it rather than pay more than $11 for the small bottle.

Three ingredients short, this pie was still the best pumkin pie this pie lover has ever had. A little whip cream on top just before taking a bite of the still warm wonder put me in a number of momentary states of bliss.

I'm looking forward to more of those!

Washer Whinings

My washing machine leaks water. This frustrates me. So I decided to try and fix it myself. After more than an hour of unscrewing, taking it apart and being crammed in a tiny space I finally located the source of the problem.

Running the washer while I watch carefully for the source of the leakage tears up my knees on the floor. But after quite a while of investigating eureka, I find the source, and it happens to be in the hardest to reach place possible. Uhg! Now I'm feeling hostile towards this white washer of wardrobes.

With the help of my father in law, we begin taking it apart further, following the direictions and moving at a good pace. Eventually we take off the agitator (that thing in the middle which turns the clothes all around), and we're only one oversized bolt away from victory.

The piece that we have to unscrew is 2 inches in diameter. I have a pair of channel locks that will grip that wide, but the warning from the instructions says to be careful because the piece is made from fragile aluminum...(oh come on, the hugest piece fastened on super tight has to be removed with care!! You've got to me kidding me!).

Sadly, my wimpy hands are unable to squeeze the channel locks hard enough while at the same time applying turning power to make any progress. Nathan Angrier! Father-in-law tries...also wimpy. We both try at the same time.....can you picture this scene?...Two sweaty men fumbling around trying to cram half way down into a washing machine tub and get anything accomplished? Well, it didn't work either.

I have a set of HUGE sockets and wrenches. After digging them from the closet we found the one that fit. Ah ha! This will do nicely. Huge wrench and huge socket were fitted over the huge bolt, and all of this led to a huge disappointment! Yar. My wimpiness culminated after almost popping a vien on my forehead attempting to loosen that blasted bolt, but like Aerosmith to eloquently said, "I can't get no satisfaction."

I was seething with anger. One bolt stood in between having a dry floor and having to clean up water everytime we wash clothes. But alas, with our tails tucked in shame, the two of us reassembled the cursed device accepting that fact that we just lost many man points.

Anyone else have any frustrating house projects they want to share?

Puppy Envy

My brother and his girlfriend suffer from "puppy envy." And they should. After all, they have cats (which are great cats by the way), but no dogs. So naturally they are envious when my wife and I got a new puppy after they had moved away to Chicago-land.




Loa, the new puppy, was very small when we got her.







But she sure has grown. Currently, at the ripe old age of 9 months, she is the same size as 4 year old and sweety, Dakota: 60lbs.








Dakota and Lola do most things together. They're just like two peas in a pod or whatever.



This one is called syncronized bone chewing.

She always has a bone or some other toy with her, and she grunts constantly as she paces when she's excited.

However, recently things have not been so picture perfect for this perfect puppy. One week ago we had her fixed because she had just gone into heat. That was amistake.

When a dog is in heat you typically have to clean up after her because she tends to leave little blood spots on the floor or carpet. This is manageable. But after her operation, she proceeded to lick her wound non-stop until it became infected and began oozing bloody puss!!! Eew. So now she's emitting from two places that we have to clean up after.

After a trip to the puppy ER and puppy prescriptions which cost nearly a dog's tail and leg, she was forced to wear one of those cone collars to prevent further licking. It's pitifully cute.

She was so depressed at first with the collar that we had to feed her by hand. She couldn't see her feet so she was hesitant to walk and had to move from room to room by following behind somebody. Otherwise she'd sadly sit in one place for hours until she had to move.

Since then she has gotten over the fear of the collar and embraced it as a part of life. Now she's no longer depressed seeming. I'm not sure this is an improvement, because she's now running all over but misjudging the cone size. Whack! goes the hard plastic into my shin, and scrape! it goes across the wall. The sound is amplified, because, as you can see, the cone is shaped like a megaphone.

At night she constantly changes position trying to get comfortable incidently keeping us awake listining to the obnoxious conehead contortions.

If you look real close in these two pictures you can see the redness on her belly. The wound is healing nicely. We clean it often and keep her away from it.

As much as I love my puppy, she has been a handful this week resulting in less time and less money. I wouldn't feel very envious of me right now. Puppy envy, I don't think so.

Don't worry Adam, you'll meet her soon enough!

River Relaxation

As part of my beautiful bride's 24 birthday festivities we, and two of our friends, packed up the camping gear and headed out to Mills River for the weekend. Our style of camping is very different than that of my childhood which involved lots of on-the-go action and playing. No, Heather and I prefer to relax, sleep lots and eat good camp'n only cookin'.




Sadly, for the first 24 hours we were there...it rained. Day and night. Our tent, fashioned for rainy weather, held up for the most part, but condensation over a period of time caused a lot of our clothes, towels, and sleeping bags to get wet in the tent...ugh.




We have two air mattresses that have electric pumps to fill them up. Alas, the first night we were there, due to rain and nightime, we were unable to locate any power outlets and were forced to sleep on the ground. Life is tough ain't it. On Saturday we did find an outlet to fill our mattresses, but we then found out that one had a leak which caused our two friends to sleep more or less on the ground a second night. Luckily, the birthday girl (and her husband) does not sleep on the ground twice, so we got the good mattress.




Saturday we also broke down, went to Wally World and bought a HUGE tarp to try and keep our tent a bit dryer. It worked, but as you can see it was a little unsightly.




Saturday evening the rain finally stopped. We got to build a fire, roast marshmellows for smores, and simply sit around the peaceful dancing flames. Sunday held true to it's name and was sunny. The tarp came off, the tent dried up, and things were serene. For breakfast we made pancakes and potatos and onions (a camping only food). Them'er some good viddles!





That afternoon we ventured down to the river for a spell and enjoyed the scenery. Mills River is on the edge of the Pisgah National Forest which is one of a 4-part system of national forests in western North Carolina.



The river is beautiful as it wanders camly but with great force shaping rocks and banks as children, adults and dogs alike play in the stream taking in the sights.







Dakota, our black and tan hound, ventured farther than ever into the waters chasing rocks. Robert was the first to trek into the faster flowing part of the river. He soon slipped and was carried about 30 feet down river before recovering as we all chuckled.









Inspired by Robert's heroics, I joined him and we traveled far upstream with the intention of riding the current over jagged and smooth stones back down to where our wives were lounging.

And we did just that...twice.








I love this picture.




Dakota: underwater rock hunting!









Wonderful wives enjoying themselves at the river.



Though part of the trip was sullied by extravegant amounts of rain, we had a great time seeing our now out of town friends again and focusing on anything but work.

Rhythm

Last Friday night my wife, some friends of ours and I ventured into a land of the strange and the wierd, a land unique from any other in its diversity of patrons and residents, a land of lights, tastes, characters and creativity - a land called Downtown Asheville. The reason for this group-sized galavanting was as unigue and intruiging as the land it was in: drum circle.

Every Friday night there is a drum circle in Pritchard Park, downtown Asheville where drummers from virtually every walk of life come out of the woodwork, drums in hand, to feel the rhythm, play together and have a good time. People of all ages, races, shapes and sizes showed up to play the wide variety of African hand drums which were singing into the air with each "thud," "chum chum," "spok," "tat," and "boom."

Among the instruments I saw were djembes, dumbeks, congas, bongo drums, a dun-dun, an ashiko, cowbells, woodblocks, singer mini-cowbells, taborines and various shakers. Some players were life-long drummers, some were playing for the first time, but all were locked into a perpetual rhythm which some research has suggested has a theraputic quality.

Of my drums, I brought a djembe, conga, cowbell, egg shaker and a woodblock. There's an elevated pavillion-like seating area which was full of hand drummers and an open area filled with more drummers but predominantly dancers. As people walked by they always stopped to watch the rowdy ruckus, feel the rumbling rhythm and refelct on the robust aroma of cigars, inscense, and body odor.

My mates and I all had a such a great time drumming, listening and watching that we're planning on returning this Friday and perhaps many Fridays to come.

Despite Greg's express wishes that his wife Hannah not engage in "hippie dancing," this picture is evidence that she didn't listen.

Heather's dad and his wife also came along and brought the beat with'em. Afterwards Sherry adamantly said, "If I'da knowd it was gonne be that fun, I'da brought my tamborine!"

My guess is, next week she'll get her chance.

Crappy Day

Once in a while when asking another how his day went I here someone respond with a long face and a sigh, "It's been a crappy day."

I have two dogs. Dakota is a 4 year old regal, lady-like, cute, prissy hound who loves pillows, long naps and belly rubs. Lola is a 7 month old excitable, dim-whitted, mud loving cute puppy with virtually no reservations in life. It is the latter of these two, my daughters for now, which led to my most recent 'crappy day.'

I got up in the morning while it was still dark and routinely went straight to take the haggle of hounds outside to use the grassy facilities. Lights are out, the world is quiet and lines are blurry as my glasses are typically not on my face (they will be from now on).

I waited on the pourch for them to finish their business, and after breathing the crisp morning air I stepped back inside to a living room with suddenly a peculiar, yet familiar and disconcerting smell. "Funny," I thought, "I didn't smell that before." I hadn't really put things together until as I walked through the dim living room my heel landed sloppily into a cold mud puddle of puppy poop!

Hopping one-footedly to the light switch my senses suddenly became very acute as I noticed two deposits of doggy diarhea in the apartment. Eew! After washing my foot, crating the culprit, and waking my wife I dashed to the store to buy carpet cleaner of which we were (naturally) fresh out.

Of course the ordeal negated the chance for a shower and made me late getting ready! It would be the day of a car pool when I was driving! Naturally these things happen on days I have a stressful group presentation and emotionally draining individual supervision! Just when CPE couldn't get more stressful we had to throw feces (like monkeys do) into the mix!

It gets better...

Upon arriving home, I step through the door to a familiar smell, and received no typical greeting from my beloved K-9s or wonderful wife. "She's struck again!" I thought.

While in her cage, sadly Lola had to go two more times. (That part is sad.) She was locked up with it, and it got smeared around by her feet and tail for God knows how long during the day. The crate has holes in the corners through which liquidy droppings had found a path to the linolium and spread on the floor as my wife turned the cage to keep Lola off the carpet when exiting. "It's good to be home!" I thought.

Not my usual welcome. The smell was compounded over several hours and strong enough to taste.

She cleaned the floor; I cleaned the cage. I washed both dogs, which with a 60lb animal requires basically showering together. Heather dried them, aired out the rooms and made a fresh smelling dinner to combat the day's aroma.

I am rarely one to say that I had a bad day. However, after this one, were you to ask me how the day went, I think I am safe and justified to answer, "Crappy day!"

Good Samaritans

The sputtering of the engine and lurging of the motorcle could only mean one thing...I was out of gas. This happened once, while riding my motorcyle on a long highway trip. As I pulled into the emergency lane and coasted to a hault I watched my wife's car right in front of my drive drive away as she didn't notice my distress. Dang!


Remembering that motorcylces have reserve gas tanks I flipped the switch on the side of the bike, and to my surprise, it started up! "Whew, I'll be alright," I thought. There was enough gas to get me to the next exit where the bike died again at the end of the exit ramp.


One problem: no gas stations in sight.


To my fortune, a man and wife, heading home to take a ride on their motorcylce had pitty on me and stopped their old pick-up truck full of seemingly junk in the back. "We'll fix ya'up," he said enthusiastically and as country as humanly possible. "I got sum'hose in m'truck...an' we can use 'at bottle," he slurred as he ran to pick up a discarded, dented, empty two-liter sprite bottle from the grass. Inserting the hose into his gas tank, he looked at me, said with a worried look on his face, "I always 'ate dis part," and began to suck gas up through the hose."


I found myself wondering, "How many times has he done this? He'll probably have some motor oil for dessert later."


Seeing the gas approaching through the clear hose, his eyes bulged out and he spit the hose out just before he received a mouth full of Exxon's finest unleaded. But he filled the sprite bottle and then put it in my tank. Plenty to get me to a fill station.


I thanked them repeditively and offered money to pay for their gas. They declined and happily wished me a good day before they went on their merry way to help others stranded by the way side.

_____________________
Just the other day as my car pool buddy (or should it be "buddy-ey"?) and I got to the car to begin the trek up the mountian, we found the neighboring car and fellow employee driver with a dead battery. She had called secrurity to come and jump her battery but didn't know when they'd arrive.


So, thinking of my own side of the road rescuers, I offered to jump start her car with my cables. Moments later her car started, and she thanked me before mosying on her merry way.


_____________________
It seems to me that this world could use more stories like these. Simple ways in which regular people can leave a lasting impact by helping. Out of our own abundance can we give to those in need?


Too often do I pass by cars on the side of the highway and moments later someone walking with a gas can. I think I'll stop next time. Maybe I'll even keep with me a spare hose and sprite bottle.

Has you helped anyone lately? Has anyone helped you?

Shared stories welcome.

Renovating & Renewing

Since I began my residency as a hospital chaplain recently I have been very busy working very hard. However, someone close to me has been working harder: my wife.

Awaiting the fourth and final year of Pharmacy School, you'd think a worn out over-tested student of medications would do well to take some time off, relax and kick back. Not this little rosy Rapunzel of radical renovations. She has spent days and nights working on, fixing up, repairing, cleaning, painting, flooring, and all around improving various parts of her mother's house.

Let's start with the bathroom. There's no completely "before" picture. But the floor was unfinished, uneven concrete, and the sheet rock walls were unmudded and had a number of sizely holes in them. In March we began the lengthy process of mudding the many corners and seems.

After several layers of sheet rock mud she was ready to prime. Accompanied by a friend and fellow pharmacy student they went to work, and before I got home from work one day it looked quite different. (see below)

I'll let the pictures speak for themselves, but you'll see that from there they painted, replaced the shower doors with a tasteful curtain and painstakingly laid laminate flooring. Wow! Put all that together and you've got yourself a new room in the house increasing your property value!




(Happy mother-in-law on right.)

The basement of the house has for some time been mostly unfinished save one cluttered bedroom with an unfinished concrete floor. Again there's no "before" picture, but after a lot of de-cluttering, and some much needed area rugs the basement has become a cozy, 1 bed/1 bath suite with French doors. Not bad for a basement.


The next post will show the outside of the house.

Growing Pains

She has gotten bigger!

Lola is now just over 3 months old and growing like a weed. I wanted to have more time with a tiny puppy to love and carry around...but now it's getting difficult just to pick her up!

As children grow into adolescence and then into adulthood they go through first time difficult life experiences, which are often referred to as 'growing pains.' I must say we are experiencing a few growing pains of our own due to Lola's rapid size increase.

Little puppy teeth are sharp. And while we're teaching her not to mouth or bite, occasionally she still gets her tiny jaws around a finger or toe and gnaws. Ouch!

We are doing our best to house train her, and for only three months old she's doing great. But accidents still happen, and with her rapid change in size so also comes an increase in the deposit she leaves on our carpet. Eew!

Dakota, our three year old hound, is experiencing her own adjustments as well. Having to accommodate a little thing that looks just like her and wants to mimic her every move has proven to test her K-9 patience at times. Dakota has her own space (under the bed) and doggy bed (a big pillow), and we don't bother her while she's there; however, Lola has not discerned these boundaries and daily invades Dakota's space earning a quick warning growl from her 60lb older sister. Grrr!

But all in all, the little rug-rat is adjusting well and seemingly getting smarter each day. She's a great play buddy for Dakota and is quickly becoming a worthy rival.


Perhaps my favorite moments are when they lay down together to bathe in the sun or look out a window.



More pictures and updates later on.