My Friend Tiger

Tiger is my friend. His person is the contractor overseeing the gut renovation of the crazy house next door. Tiger is a good guard dog, as he gets quite barkety. I befriended him through lots of head scratches and treats -- although he is a pitbull with uncastrated balls the size of tangerines, he is very nice to me and we are friends.

Last night I felt a major depressive episode surging, one of the really bad, idiopathic, box-self-and-send-to-dead-letter-office ones. Nowhere to go but to the backyard and to bed: no cause to blame save the full moon, shining nickel-bright and pitiless on a dumb girl and a very nice dog.