And every day, their hopes are dashed yet again.
So I try to make it up to them on the weekends by going on a doggy date with my three hairy hunks---this may be why I have no social life.Or it's the 50,000 cats. One or the other.
This week we took a drive to Dagmar to---of course---pick up more kittens. But don't worry, they won't be staying long. I am only fostering them for a little while (I know, that's what all the crazy cat ladies say!). And on the way we stopped by my favorite abandoned farmstead for some exploring fun.
This is the main house. It seems to have two rooms, plus a mudroom. And there seems to be some kind of basement. I haven't been brave enough to go out on the highly rotten floor to find out for sure.
This roof bravely kept its family sheltered from many wintery blasts, but splinter by board the elements are winning out in the end.
Ok, so I went on the floor for a little. But just a few feet. And just on the very edge of the room, which is theoretically better supported. Finley did not approve.
There's also a large barn that has mostly collapsed, and a smaller building that I always think of as the horse barn.
Speaking of shmexy boys, I managed to get a few pictures of all the dogs---after they'd run themselves ragged and were covered in burrs and pond slime, of course.
On our way out, we passed the warning sign for North Dakota's only curve.
It was a lovely walk in some gorgeous fall weather. The air was crisp, the sun was setting, and we could listen to the cranes calling to each other as they headed south for the winter. I might even consider doing it again sometime---after I pick all the burrs out of my upholstery. Which will take approximately forever.
Don't hold your breath, hairy fiends.
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