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I am UmberDove.

And by that, I mean an artist.  One who hears stories in the wind, who paints because it is what her soul tells her to do, who smiths because the muse moves through her fingertips, who loves nothing more than the promise of an unexplored trail, the sound of the ocean in her ears, and scent of a serious cup of coffee.



Well it's 11:30 already, and I've managed to shower for the day.

We're in recovery mode here after a traumatic evening that still has me shaking as I type this in the light of day.  The short story is as follows:
Late yesterday afternoon a pack of very nasty neighbor dogs got out of their yard and trespassed into ours.  Sancho, big hearted and full of puppy invincibility, told them to leave but the odds were stacked too unfairly.  
It was three to five, if you count Brad and I in Sancho's court.  I didn't even recognize the screams that were coming out of my mouth until I recalled them later, and Brad didn't even realize he was bleeding until we had Sancho in the house and the other dogs off our property.
The good news is this:
After a very long night at the emergency vet, followed by the human ER, every one is put back together with fairly minor wounds, taking their antibiotics and up after sleeping in late.

Sancho decided he loves the vet, after no less than 10 cookies.
Brad has an oven mit of a bandage on his right hand (all the better to pour the tea kettle he told me earlier).

But we're taking it slow today.