Expect cloudy to incoherent commentary for the next couple of days, as I keep one eye on the computer screen and t'other obsessively on a seven-year-old black lab-weimaraner lady my daughter and I adopted just yesterday. She's a gorgeous old gal, looking every bit the lab as the weimaraner, although her gentlest of dispositions favors, I'd guess, the lab half.
So far she's adapted wonderfully well, considering that just 24 hours ago she was on her third disoriented day at the humane society, having been surrendered, after all her seven years, by her human mother, stricken by cancer. The poor woman must have been without any human help in caring for her companion, for hers is that time above all others for such companionship. I swear I can't recall our border collie ever leaving my wife's bed throughout the final few months. He put me in absolute awe of canine loyalty, affection, and caring.
Whoa, gotta go, an eerie silence from rooms afar is making me nervous. I already love the old lady, but for all I know she has a love for chewing carpets or whatnot.