Postcard From Bruce: 3 September 2016
My wife and Ellie are off to a dog show today, sixty or so competitors will come from all over Sweden, Germany and Denmark. People bring tons of gear to these events, brushes and combs and dishes, food bowls, plastic poop bags, water, small tents . . . leashes. Raingear— always good to have in Sweden, documents and forms filled out, cages with wheels—and locks.
There was a dog napping at one of the last contests. Owner left her dogs inside their cages in a locked station wagon. Someone, or ones, grabbed them, cages and all. She is heart broken, all her work, and loving care, and training grooming—gone. I feel so sorry for her. Owners and their dogs— intensity of love is scary. Gossip theory is, the dog-napped dogs, two Labradors, would probably be shipped to Russia, where they would have their I.D. chips removed, and resold.
Postcard From Smoothy: 3 September 2016
Everything is going well. I’ve pretty much scoped out the house, but there is a blocked off area—closed door opens to a garage and stairway. What the hell is up there? The two rooms with desks are more or less off limits. I knocked over a small flower vase, full of water while I was using the keyboard on mom’s desk.
The bedroom is also off limits. I was climbing a curtain and the whole dam thing came down. It might have killed me. I was able to get under the bed before it hit the floor. Housewoman was pissed, but she got over it pretty fast.
Ellie’s okay— an ego as big as Brazil, but she’s nice, polite you might say, except when it comes to her food. She’s a bitch about food, but we’ve been getting friendly, and we play sometimes. Ellie and mom are at a beauty contest today. The houseman has used the door to the garage and gone upstairs. What the hell does he do up there?