Our animal problem comes home to roost
My girls, who are 6 and 8, have an animal problem. I can blame only myself, since my poor husband wants nothing to do with muddy dogs, shedding cats, and messy chickens. He believes joy is found in peaceful cleanliness. He likes order. Creatures who regularly do what is asked of them.
My girls and I like fur and snuggles. Creatures who display goofy gratitude for their suppers. Animals who cannot speak but who talk nonetheless.
