Welcome to Christmas Eve. Fiorella is running late on her blog, late on her decorating, late on wrapping presents, and late on everything else in her life. Christmas is that way. 'Tis the season to go crazy.
There are three dogs in the house right now: Older Son's Staffordshire Terrior (aka pit bull), Younger Son's pug puppy, and our own reliable Weimeraner. And only two of the three seem to be able to co-exist at any one time, which means, in relays, one of them has to be caged or outside. But it's raining outside. We have never yet met a dog that appreciated rain. Fio is convinced that the dog-man relationship began when primitive human tribes sought shelter from the pelting rain in caves--and so did dogs. They love us not just for the food in their bowls, but the roofs over their heads.
And each one of the three has a stocking hanging from our fireplace mantel. With nothing in them yet, of course, but then, Fio has several hours before dawn.