No collar and tag, I assume, but maybe he has a chip?

No collar, no tag, no tattoo that I could easily see. By the time he showed up, it was too late to call my vet or the nearby animal hospital to take him in and I refuse to call animal control, since they're a kill-shelter and I just don't trust them. I'll take him into the vet tomorrow to see if he has a chip.

a little girl, maybe two years old or so, fully clothed, holding a baby doll to her chest, imitating her mother breastfeeding a baby.

That could have been my daughter at that age. Only Franny went for verisimilitude, so she tended to pull up her dress or top to give the doll proper access.

I am not surprised the photo upset some people. People are freaks and nonsense when it comes to fears about overly sexualizing kids. For starters, nursing isn't sexual, particularly not to kids. I am so glad Franny's teachers at the time found her behavior completely appropriate.

Barb, you should call the shelter and let them know at least, in case his people check there for him.

It was probably a toss-up between a picture of actual breastfeeding (BOOBIES!! AACCCCCKKK!!!!) and a picture of a kid with a doll (KID PRETENDING TO BE A PARENT!!! AAAAACCCKKK!!!). And I'm sure the angry letters would be coming from the same crowd either way.

I was very casual about nursing everywhere at anytime. Adults pretend to not notice, but kids get curious and ask questions. Children don't find feeding babies sexual at all.

And of course I would nurse the boys in the airport because otherwise they would be acting up and crying and be at risk for the killing by the surly traveler. It was in the child's best interest.

I would have, brenda, except they're gone by 4PM on Fridays.

Poor guy, he so desperately wants to be inside, but I won't do that until he's cleared. I feel much better knowing he's in the garage and safe in a crate given that it's still raining.

The wee beastie knew where the softhearted lady lived. Good on him. Or her?

Wow, Laura, now I want to go to Ft. Lauderdale just to not eat there.

No! I say we all go there, declare the food inedible and yell at the chef, en masse.

Sparky! Oops. Shh. She and Babyfras are probably napping now.

The wee beastie knew where the softhearted lady lived. Good on him. Or her?

It's a him. And I've long suspected a target or neon sign visible only to beasties perched somewhere above my head.

1. Ow.

2. I don't know anything about dogs.

3. Ow some more.

4. I don't know why I'm numbering this.

5. Why do the painkillers always make my brain all fuzzy long before they actually stop the pain?

I have now progressed to lying on the couch and whimpering. Stupid body. (This is why I try to schedule PT on Fridays. I know I'm going to be achy afterwards, so if it screws up my sleep or leaves me still achy the next day, at least it's not keeping out of a day that I'd usually be doing math.)