Photography

A Room With A View

From my new writing space, all I see is corn, hay, more corn, trees, and more trees. There is a neighbour a km or so away, but I can’t quite make out their house. This is the road less traveled but there is a streetlight across from our home. It’s a little bit of civilization in a pretty remote area.

Miss Sugar splayed out on a quilted furniture cover over a black leather couch

Miss Sugar’s Moving Diary – Entry #8

I love Father more than treats, my bacon toy or kibble. Perhaps you know the history, perhaps you don’t. Mother adopted me on her birthday a few years ago. She waited for me to get well because when we met, I was wearing an ugly cone and experiencing some gastric distress. When I finally came home with her and laid eyes on Father, I knew I’d found my protector and BFF for life. Mother says tiny hearts flew up like sparks between us. But I have to confess that I’ve developed a crush on another man.

Miss Sugar in the middle of an obviously caved-in bed, atop a white comforter, looking miserable.

Miss Sugar’s Moving Diary – Entry #3

There is nothing left in this house except the things that belong to me. My scratching post that looks like a bent toilet brush, my basket of toys and brushes. Best of all, my fuzzy, puffy pouf and of course, my food. I must face the fact that we are camping now. The furniture upon which I leave my fur is now but a memory. These humans cannot be reasoned with. Take note of my facial expression. This air mattress has no give!