February 23, 2003
I miss my chickens! This morning I had gathered quite a bowl of strawberry stems, extra pancakes, green onion stalks, old bread and there is no one to give it to. I’m so sad.

There’s an old saying or question, to the effect, “What parent knows the true life of their children?” And vice versa. I guess the same could be said for dogs. In spite of Peaches’ chicken issues, I always assumed she was a loyal pup and that she waited for me patiently while I’m at work, just pining the hours until I return. Well, after printing yesterday’s journal entry I got this E-mail from a jeep tour guide from the area: “I am a disturber of your Saturday mornings once a month from October to April, when I and other stalwarts of the DFLT [Desert Foothills Land Trust] haul a gaggle of Terravitistas or Boulderites or Desert Mountaineers [these are resorts and developments in Carefree] out to the cave to introduce them to the splendors of Cave Creek and to pass the collection plate for The Cause. Peaches frequently accompanies us on our tours, and once even scared up a rattlesnake in the creekbed for us to use in our spiel on the Wonders of the Sonoran Desert. She is much appreciated by us, and we try to remember each time to bring her a biscuit. She's not been too impressed by them, but does her best to appear grateful. Now we know what she would really like —a live chicken.”

So, in addition to being French, evidently my faithful dog is also a French floozy!

“Every day is Christmas Day to a dog.”
—Ray Bradbury