Here’s another reason to fight for a ban against puppy mills. Over six years ago, when I adopted my beagle, Reba, I began working on basic commands with her, along with housebreaking. I had to assume she had either lived in an outdoor pen or in a home with a barbarian. That sweet-tempered little girl didn’t know ANYTHING. I won’t give you the tedious blow-by-blow, but I’ll say that it took her three months to learn that the last...
My home is graced with the presence of two long-haired tortoise shells. Far from identical, they couldn’t be more different. One is the nearly magical Quinn, and there will be more about that beauty in future posts. The other is Lucy, an old, scruffy street cat that came to live with me about three years ago. I had spotted her across the street many times over the years, and just assumed she had a home there.
