Ella Bucalli's rescue stories, senior-dog notes, and the little routines I keep coming back to
4 posts from April 2025.
The floorboards in the kitchen always give a soft, familiar groan under my weight before the sun has fully cleared the fence line.
The ceramic dog-bone jar by the coffee maker sits exactly where it has for six years, a constant witness to my habit of writing around the truth.
My house often feels like a graveyard for expensive rubber puzzles that Mabel and Walter decided were not worth the effort. I look at the ceramic dog-bone jar by the coffee maker and remember the days when I thought a challenge was supposed to be difficult.
My checklist is not fancy. It fits on one page in the notebook on the kitchen counter and gets messy fast, which is exactly how I like it.