This is Oreo. He lives with my mom. My mom did not really want a dog in her life again, but my former sister-in-law was threatening to take him to the pound and my mom figured my niece had had enough trauma in her life without having her dog ripped away from her, too, so Oreo moved in. It’s worked out pretty well, and Mom delights in telling me dog stories when I call. He once jumped out of the car and through the drive-up window into a doughnut shop, for instance. I like hearing the stories, since they’re as close as I’m going to come to having my own dog for the foreseeable future.

One year ago, I marked the end of Holidailies with an entry about this and that and the other thing.

Two and also three years ago, I did not write here.