For a long time, I thought I'd lost the reader I used to be. After the crash, after the seizures, books stopped unfolding in my head the way they always had. I could read the words, but the story wouldn't come. Then one night, four and a half hours disappeared into a novel. I finished it, looked at M&M, and heard the question I hadn't realized I'd missed: “You finished it already?” Maybe finding your way back doesn't happen all at once. Maybe sometimes it begins with one book, one page, and the quiet realization that the person you thought you'd lost was still there.

Three seasons in, and Silo has officially become one of those shows that refuses to leave my brain alone. What started as something M&M and I watched from Bed Jail™ turned into weekly yelling, increasingly unhinged theories, arguments with the Yard Yeti, and approximately seventeen new questions for every answer we got. Season 3 didn't just give us more of the story. It cracked open the entire damn box. Memory manipulation, Silo 1, Daniel becoming Troy, Helen, the Algorithm, the outside, the timeline, that mysterious door... I have questions. So many questions. And apparently I'm going to be carrying every single one of them around until Season 4 finally gives me somewhere to put them.

The October Slide has officially arrived, and apparently it brought a cold, insomnia, headaches, migraines, an unhappy stomach, and absolutely no respect for personal boundaries. But this week's health update isn't only about what's hurting. It's about the strange, messy ecosystem of healing: Luna doing her job, Binka getting me out of bed, Biscuits purring like a tiny engine, M&M asking if I need anything, and the quiet realization that healing doesn't always look like a better lab result or a successful appointment. Sometimes healing looks like rest. Sometimes it looks like laughter. Sometimes it looks like potato soup, ginger ale, and surviving another week inside a body that doesn't always cooperate. And sometimes, it's simply remembering that you're still here. Still making things. Still loving people. Still finding reasons to laugh. Still building a life around the body you have instead of waiting for the body you wish you had.

The Pack got bigger, Mama got a little sick, Halloween got rained out, and Luna Bean has somehow acquired even more people, paws, and responsibilities to supervise. From service-dog work and ball-chasing to puppy wrestling and kitten diplomacy, this week’s Friday Takeover is a little glimpse into life inside the Den, where rest counts, good days matter, and even Big Sisters are allowed to walk away when they need quiet.

The porch light is on. Not because everything is fine. Not because we're all thriving. And definitely not because anyone needs to arrive at the Den with a polished little report about how wonderfully they're handling life. It's October 1st. The rain is coming down sideways. The dogs are inside, the coffee is hot, there's a kitten somewhere making biscuits, and I'm looking back at a year that has changed almost everything. So come sit with us. Tell us what’s carrying you this week. Tell us what’s been hard. Tell us one tiny victory. Or just say, “I'm here.” That counts, too. There’s always another chair in the Den. 🏡🎃

Seventeen weeks old, covered in oversized paws, opinions, and puppy chaos, Blitzø has officially become a big brother. This week’s adventure takes us from teething and training to the first real peace talks between one enormous spotted puppy and one very determined little silver tabby. There were sniffs, tail inspections, kitten cuddles, a flirt-pole incident, and absolutely no attempts to eat the litter box. Progress. But somewhere between the puppy crimes and the United Cryptid Nations summit, something bigger happened. Blitzø stopped being simply the puppy who came home. He became part of the family. So come on into the Den, meet Mr. Moo, and find out what happens when a 17-week-old Great Dane × Anatolian Shepherd discovers that being a big brother is its own kind of Helluva Adventure. 🐄🐾🌙

Some weeks are adventures. Some weeks are sneezing in bed, drinking soup, recovering from surgery, negotiating peace between a service dog and a kitten, and wondering how the hell your life became so different from the one you imagined a year ago. This was one of those weeks. It wasn't glamorous. It wasn't particularly productive. I didn't go many places. But there was a kitten making biscuits against a dog. There was a puppy waiting his turn at the peace table. There was family I didn't know I had a year ago. There was healing. And somewhere between the ordinary Tuesday moments, I realized something: **This life still counts.** The little days count. The weird days count. The days when your body cooperates and the days when it absolutely refuses to. So this week's Cryptid Dispatch is a field report from the quieter side of life: one small adventure, one ridiculous kitten, two dogs learning diplomacy, a little family history, and the strange realization that sometimes you have to stop and look around to notice just how far you've come.

The Cryptid Kennel has officially expanded beyond the dogs. Luna is learning how to be a big sister. Blitzø is learning that not every small creature is a wrestling partner. And Biscuits, a tiny silver tabby with green eyes and enormous opinions, has apparently decided that he lives here now. There are scent swaps, supervised introductions, puppy chaos, kitten negotiations, stolen socks, new toys, ridiculous nicknames, and a whole lot of learning how to share the Den safely. Because this isn't a story about perfect animals or perfect training. It's about real creatures, real relationships, tiny victories, and the strange little moments that make a house feel like home. Three creatures. One Den. And apparently, a lot of negotiating.

I went into Bed Jail™ looking for something easy to watch while feeling like absolute garbage. Instead, M&M and I found Terry Crews, 100 home cooks, a giant ball machine, increasingly ridiculous food challenges, and a contestant who somehow made us care way too much about what happened next. Somewhere between the Costco tempura shrimp and yelling at the television, *100 Cooks* became our newest comfort obsession. 🍳🛌📡

September was supposed to be gentle. Instead, my body has apparently decided to skip ahead to the October Slide, bringing migraines, sore mornings, exhaustion, and the distinct sensation that sleep has become an optional feature. But life hasn't stopped. There are groceries to buy. Food pantry days to survive. A final farmer's market. A new kitten making biscuits. A giant puppy demanding that I get off the couch. Luna doing her job. M&M quietly asking if I need anything. Some weeks healing looks like a better lab result. Some weeks it looks like getting out of bed. And sometimes, the best health update you can give is simply: **Nothing caught fire.** Honestly? Boring health updates are excellent health updates.

Luna has a lot of jobs. Medical alert service dog. Mama supervisor. Big sister. Ball goblin. Jeep dog. Professional Good Girl. This week, her Pack got a little bigger. Preacher came to visit, the puppies turned themselves into muddy little piglets, and a tiny kitten arrived to become her newest baby brother. But underneath all the paws, toys, fur, and chaos is something Luna wants you to remember: you don't have to be useful every second to be important. Sometimes you get to rest. Sometimes you get to play. Sometimes you just get to be Luna. 🐾

The porch light is on. Not because everything is fine. Not because everyone is thriving. Just because sometimes you need somewhere to sit down when life has been a lot. This week, the Cryptid Kennel grew again with one very silver, very green-eyed, very purry kitten who may or may not eventually answer to Castiel, but will absolutely answer to Biscuits. He's M&M's very late birthday present, and already thoroughly loved. But welcoming someone new doesn't mean forgetting the ones who came before. PitPit will not be forgotten. Punpun will not be forgotten. They were loved, and they always will be. So pull up a chair. Tell us what's carrying you, what's been hard, what's made you laugh, or simply say, “I'm here.” There's always another chair in the Den.

Fall is a negotiation between daylight, body, and dog. Luna wakes me up with snuggles and opinions, the garden calls, and the Yard Yeti handles the heavy lifting. Leaves crunch, balls fly, and our routines shift gently to match the season. Cozy sweaters, warm soups, and sunlit naps- fall doesn’t fix the world, but it softens the edges.

Blitzø is four months old, which means the world is still full of firsts: falling leaves, Halloween, snow, Christmas lights, new animals, new games, new rules, and approximately seventeen thousand things he has apparently decided need to be investigated with his mouth. Meanwhile, Luna has declared rain a personal attack, continues supervising Mama with the seriousness of a government official, and is slowly teaching her baby brother that not every creature wants to participate in the shenanigans. It's been a strange, rainy, growing kind of week in the Cryptid Kennel. There are training wins, puppy crimes, family reunions, a very judgmental cat, an upcoming puppy playdate, and maybe even a tiny new member of the household on the horizon. Mostly, though, there's this: Sometimes healing doesn't look like a grand transformation. Sometimes it looks like a puppy falling asleep beside his big sister. A service dog quietly doing her job. A wet nose against your hand. And four paws waiting for you to get up and keep going. Welcome back to the Kennel. 🐾

A service dog isn’t just a helper. Sometimes they’re the quiet voice that interrupts denial, the stubborn heartbeat that refuses to let you disappear. On National Service Dog Day, I’m honoring the Service Dingo who chose this life before I even understood what she was doing.

The October Slide has arrived, the migraines have been relentless, and apparently my body has decided that seasonal transitions are an excellent time to file a formal complaint. But somewhere between Xolair appointments, chicken soup, a very overdue kitchen cleaning, volunteering at the food pantry, and a four-month-old puppy who refuses to let me stay horizontal, I'm remembering something important: this is still a whole life, not just a medical chart. 🩹🐾💜

Luna has a lot of jobs. Medical alert dog. Big sister. Adventure dog. Professional Mama Supervisor. Full-time ball goblin. But this week, her most important job may have been remembering something Mama sometimes forgets: you don't have to be working every second to be important. Between the October Slide, a doctor’s appointment, an unexpectedly ferocious kitchen-cleaning operation, a fever, a giant puppy, a bowl of soup, and a whole lot of cuddling, Luna has been watching over her Pack. Because sometimes survival looks like medical alerts and Deep Pressure Therapy. And sometimes it looks like a warm bed, a clean kitchen, soup in the crockpot, four paws nearby, and knowing when the ball can wait. Only sometimes, of course. 🐾

Every Thursday, we leave the porch light on. Not because everything is fine, but because nobody should have to perform being okay to have a place to belong. Come as you are. Bring your good news, your terrible week, your tiny victory, or simply the words “I’m here.” There’s always another chair in the Den.

Sixteen weeks old. Sixty-three days home. Somehow, this ridiculous little cow has managed to become part of the architecture of our lives. From learning his name and discovering that grass is actually wonderful, to bonfires, brotherly wrestling matches, puppy crimes, increasingly dramatic vocal performances, and a recall that made Mama very, very proud, Blitzø is becoming himself a little more every day. And while Luna may be his big sister and tutorial department, this isn't a story about replacing anyone or deciding who this puppy will become. It's about watching him grow. The big milestones matter. So do the tiny ones. Because someday, we'll look back at these oversized paws, floppy ears, sploots, snacks, chaos, and Moo Memos and realize this was the beginning of something much bigger. This is Blitzø's Big Adventure. And we're writing it all down before he grows out of it.

September winds carry more than leaves- they carry memory, change, and stories that learned our names before we knew theirs. Listen closely.

Sometimes the ordinary day is the life you fought to get. A slow morning. Coffee on the back deck. A thrift-store treasure hunt. Dogs demanding cookies and cuddles. Someone cleaning the kitchen while you're out chasing little adventures. It isn't the grandiose life I imagined when I was thirteen. But maybe that's okay. Because I'm learning that adventure doesn't have to be enormous to be real. Sometimes, surviving looks like building a life that finally feels safe enough to call home. And honestly? That counts.

The Cryptid Kennel is open, and this week the pack has a lot to report. Luna has played approximately seventeen thousand rounds of ball while learning that, tragically, not every ball in the house belongs to her. Binka is somehow already four months old, learning paws, place, recall, and the complicated art of being a giant puppy without destroying the household. Add a brother reunion, a road trip, a bonfire, three official puppy crimes, and one very important cheese-related incident, and you've got another week in the Den. 🐾🐄

Some weeks are adventures. Some weeks are appointments, weather changes, puppy wrestling, Chinese takeout, Bed Jail™, and approximately four hundred rounds of fetch. And sometimes, that's enough. This week, Luna takes over the Den to tell you about the quieter side of life with chronic illness, a service dog, a growing Pack, and a very large spotted puppy who is still learning that fetch requires returning the ball. Because survival isn't always dramatic. Sometimes it's staying home. Sometimes it's resting. Sometimes it's finding something to laugh about. And sometimes the best part of the week is simply being surrounded by the people and paws who make the hard days a little softer. 🐾🌙

Thursday is the day we leave the porch light on. 🏡 You don't have to arrive with good news, bad news, or a polished report on how wonderfully you're handling life. Pull up a chair, tell us how you're really doing, celebrate the tiny victories, and remember that sometimes survival is quiet, healing is slow, and joy can be as small as a puppy learning PAW. The Den has room for you. 💜🐾

Blitzø is fifteen weeks old, nearly forty pounds, and somehow already knows commands in three languages, has excellent recall, and has decided that “paw” is apparently a skill he should have been learning all along. But underneath the giant paws, puppy crimes, zoomies, and increasingly enormous body is still a baby learning how to be a dog, learning who we are, and slowly becoming himself. 🐄🐾

Speed wrapped in attitude, chaos with paws, and mismatched eyes that steal hearts before you realize she’s organizing your living room- Luna, my Australian Cattle Dog, reminds us all that herding instincts come in tiny, feral packages. Celebrate National Cattle Dog Day with the one who runs the show at the Lunatic Café.

Writing doesn't happen alone around here. Sometimes Luna is keeping watch. Sometimes Binka is learning that "settling while Mama writes" is apparently a highly advanced puppy skill. Sometimes M&M asks, "How's your writing going?" before I even realize I needed someone to ask. And sometimes I look down and realize: **I wrote.** Not blog words. Not caption words. Not "please, insurance company, acknowledge that I am a human being" words. **Story words.** The kind that remind me why I started. And this week, one of those stories has reached a very big milestone. *Night Blooming Flowers* is finished. The 14,738-word poetry collection has been submitted to Kindle Direct Publishing and is currently sitting in that wonderfully nerve-wracking **PENDING** stage. I wrote a fucking book. Now I wait for the world to catch up.

Seven episodes. Centuries of trauma. One emotionally catastrophic vampire rock star. From Sam Reid’s magnetic Lestat and Jacob Anderson’s unforgettable Louis to unreliable memories, Claudia’s lingering ghost, ancient vampire lore, and the awakening shadow of Akasha, *The Vampire Lestat* gave us everything I love about Anne Rice’s immortal disasters: beauty, brutality, grief, longing, and absolutely nobody attending enough therapy. Watched from Bed Jail™ while Luna and I were healing ourselves, this season hit somewhere unexpectedly personal. Pull up a blanket. The Brat Prince has the microphone now. And the Queen of the Damned is coming.

Some weeks don't go according to plan. The beach gets postponed. The weather turns feral. Bodies get tired. Bed Jail™ becomes the destination instead of the backup plan. But a difficult week isn't necessarily a failed week. Sometimes you make breakfast into a training game. Sometimes you scatter the kibble and let your dogs use their noses. Sometimes you teach a baby brother how to share space. Sometimes you put the outdoor adventures on hold and make a little room for rest. And sometimes... You discover that getting through the week counts as a success all by itself. Come sit with Luna Bean for a Friday Takeover about bad weather, big feelings, puppy lessons, pack life, service-dog work, and finding the good things hiding inside an imperfect week. Because Luna has something important to remind you: You don't have to be working every second to be important. Neither do you.

Thursday is the day we leave the porch light on. Not because everything is fine, but because nobody should have to arrive at the Den with a polished report about how wonderfully they're handling life. Come sit down. Drink some water. Tell us about the tiny victory, the terrible day, the weird little joy, or nothing at all. There's always another chair.

September doesn’t ask you to descend yet. It asks you to listen first. This is the first threshold of the season. Pull your chair closer. Folklore is awake.

Sometimes the adventure is a road trip. Sometimes it’s a family dinner, a grocery store run, a food-bank visit, or a story that begins with, “So, we left the house…” And sometimes the adventure is simply getting through the day. This week brought phone calls, depleted spoons, post-surgical frustration, a 5:30 a.m. puppy potty report, and a stubborn decision that September means fall whether Illinois agrees or not. There may not be a grand expedition waiting around every corner, but there are still stories to collect. Because life isn’t only made of milestones. It’s made of Tuesdays. Ordinary days. Little victories. Side quests. Unexpected detours. Coffee at the kitchen table while the dogs wrestle on the floor. And after everything I’ve lived through, I’ve learned not to underestimate an ordinary day. Welcome back to the Cryptid Dispatch.

Sometimes Monday isn't about word counts, writing projects, or forcing creativity out of a tired brain. Sometimes it's about lying on the floor with two dogs, eating peanut-butter treats, learning how to settle, and discovering that doing absolutely nothing is a skill worth learning. Welcome to the Cryptid Kennel, where Luna supervises, Blitzø learns, and the pack continues to figure each other out one paw at a time. 🐾🐄

*Some shows give you answers. **From** hands you a flashlight, points toward the woods, and quietly whispers, "Remember." Join me in Bed Jail™ for a spoiler-filled dive into Season 4, where monsters aren't the only mystery, love survives even when humanity doesn't look the same anymore, and my conspiracy board has officially become sentient.*

Some weeks, your body asks you to slow down. Some weeks, it doesn't ask. It simply slams the brakes, puts up the CLOSED sign, and informs you that you're done. This was one of those weeks. Between saying goodbye to pieces of my childhood, navigating a food bank that doesn't accommodate my body the way it once did, finding tiny thrift-store victories, and eventually ending up downstairs with a 103.2°F fever, vomiting, a migraine, and a heart rate of 125... I got benched. And when chronic illness benches you, sometimes the hardest part isn't the pain. It's the guilt. The feeling that you've failed your family because you couldn't do what you promised. The feeling that needing help means you've somehow fallen short. But then there's Luna, doing exactly what she was trained to do. M&M, quietly holding the pieces together. And Binka, a thirteen-week-old puppy who doesn't have a job, doesn't need one, and somehow still seems determined to remind me that there are reasons to get out of bed. Luna is for helping. Blitz is for healing. And tonight, I'm learning that being benched by my body doesn't mean I've failed. Sometimes it just means I need to listen.

Some weeks don't ask permission before becoming heavy. This week brought grief to the Den as we said goodbye to Dolly Parton, Tim Curry, and Peter Cullen, three people whose voices, songs, characters, and stories became part of the soundtrack of a life. And then life kept moving. There was a fall-cleaning bug, German rouladen, a street suddenly being torn apart by construction, two dogs discovering that apparently the entire house can become a wrestling arena, and a very important puppy reunion when Blitzø got to meet his litter brother, Preacher. Through all of it, Luna watched. She worked. She played. She supervised. She remembered that even a service dog needs breaks, comfort, sunshine, snacks, and a ridiculous number of tennis-ball retrievals. Maybe that's the lesson this week left us with: we don't always have to be okay to keep going. Sometimes survival looks like resting with the dogs, making something your grandmother used to make, letting puppies wrestle until they're exhausted, and noticing the tiny good things hiding between the difficult ones. So come sit with Luna Bean for a while. There is grief here. There is chaos. There is puppy fur. And there is still something worth wagging your tail about.

Some weeks, surviving means finding something small enough to carry. A puppy doing something ridiculous. A dog asleep against your leg. A song from childhood. A memory of someone you loved singing in a van. This week, the porch light is on for all of it: healing, grief, joy, Dolly Parton, Tim Curry, and the strange little pieces of our past that helped make us who we are. Come sit down. You don't have to have it all figured out. You just have to be here.

Six weeks ago, Blitzø came home as a spotted little potato with legs. Now he's thirteen weeks old, nearly 30 pounds, walking roughly 25,000 steps a day, learning commands in multiple languages, mastering the dog door, committing the occasional puppy crime, and somehow becoming an actual dog right in front of us. So we're documenting it all. The milestones. The chaos. The naps. The puppy crimes. His adventures with Luna. The numbers from his Fi Collar. And now, every Thursday, we're going to take the same picture in the same spot and watch this ridiculous little cow grow one week at a time. Because puppies don't stay puppies. And I don't want to forget exactly who Binka was while he was becoming who he's going to be.

Some weeks are adventures. Some weeks are migraines, poopnados, puppy chaos, bath battles, stolen breakfasts, and looking at the clock before rolling back over and saying, **“Nope.”** This was one of those weeks. But somewhere between the mess, the exhaustion, the dog training, the homemade mashed potatoes, *Silo*, and the tiny victories, I remembered something important: **Ordinary life still counts.** The polished days aren't the only ones worth documenting. The messy ones belong in the record, too.

For a long time, I thought I'd lost my writing. Not because I had stopped putting words on pages. I was still writing blog posts, captions, updates, explanations, and all the strange little sentences required to navigate a life that never seems to run out of paperwork. But I missed the words that didn't need to be useful. The words that weren't asking anyone for anything. The words that simply existed because something inside me needed to say them. Night Blooming Flowers is my way of finding those words again. A poetry collection about grief, healing, complicated love, broken pieces, and the strange, stubborn things that manage to grow in the dark. It isn't about pretending everything is beautiful. It's about finding beauty without pretending the ugly parts never happened. And on September 1st, those words finally get to leave the Workbench.

Welcome to the first-ever Bed Jail Broadcast. This week we're talking demons, body horror, family grief, homemade ribs, and one absolutely cursed teeth scene that nearly made my soul leave my body. Join me, Luna Bean, and M&M as we settle into the couch and dive into The Mummy (2026), a horror film that isn't interested in your comfort and is all the better for it.

For nearly twenty years, Xolair has been part of my life. It started after I went into anaphylactic shock at ten years old, spent two years trying to convince doctors that something was wrong, and finally found an allergist who believed me. We tried stopping Xolair. We tried spacing it out. Every time, my quality of life got worse. So when one terrible month of surgery, medication reactions, migraines, steroids, and a yellowjacket sting led to a conversation about taking it away again, I had some questions. This week's Saturday Health Update is about migraines, medical trauma, self-advocacy, and what happens when trust between a patient and their doctor starts to crack.

Some weeks arrive with fireworks. Others simply sneak in, leave a pile of laundry in the corner, and disappear before you realize they were here. This week was one of the quiet ones: a migraine-filled Wednesday in Bed Jail™, a milestone Thursday for Binka, and five weeks of learning what it means to become a bigger family. So settle in with Luna Bean for another Friday Takeover, where there are no productivity trophies, no performance required, and absolutely no shortage of fur.

The Den is getting fuller. Six weeks into recovery, five weeks into life with a very baby Binka, Luna is learning how to be a big sister, old friends are finding their way back to the table, and I'm learning that healing doesn't happen in a straight line. This week, we're talking about rest, accepting help, surviving the weeks that hurt, finding joy again, and making room for the people and creatures who make life feel like life. The porch light is still on. Pull up a chair. There’s room.

Not every monster is hungry. Some are tired. Some have been standing between the fragile and the unforgiving all summer long. Before you fear the teeth, ask what they’re guarding.

Seven months ago, I was waiting. Today, there's an orange Jeep in the driveway, muddy paw prints on the deck, books beside my chair, family recipes on the table, a service dingo demanding one more tennis ball, and a puppy who gets bigger every time I blink. The body still hurts. The appointments still exist. The medical nonsense hasn't magically disappeared. But somewhere along the way, my world got bigger. And after everything, ordinary has become extraordinary again. This is a field report from the quiet kind of adventure.

Some dogs arrive in your life and change it. Some leave pawprints behind long after they're gone. And some arrive with enormous feet, questionable judgment, a red puppy collar, and absolutely no intention of respecting personal space. August is a month full of dogs for me. It's the month Rex was born, the month Luna gets to celebrate another birthday with M&M, and the month Binka gets to spend his first birthday season with the family he's still learning to know. It's also the month I'm watching a tiny spotted puppy become a little less tiny every time I blink. The Cryptid Kennel is about all of that. The training. The chaos. The grief. The adventures. The working dogs and the puppies who are still figuring out what kind of dog they're going to become. It's about Luna discovering that being a working dog doesn't mean she can't still be a dingo. It's about Binka discovering that thunder is apparently a personal attack, puddles are an invitation, and Luna's ears are absolutely not chew toys despite his repeated attempts to negotiate that particular rule. And underneath all of it, it's about becoming. Because dogs don't arrive finished. Neither do we. So we're writing it all down while we can. One muddy pawprint, one ridiculous adventure, and one very loud little cow at a time.

Interview With the Vampire Season Two is not a love story. It’s a custody battle over memory, grief, truth, and who gets to survive the telling of it. From the blanket nest of Bed Jail™, The Crippled Cryptid dives into Anne Rice’s legacy, Jacob Anderson’s devastating Louis, Sam Reid’s unforgettable Lestat, Claudia’s fury, Armand’s quiet horrors, and the emotional wreckage waiting for us in The Vampire Lestat. Bring snacks. Bring tissues. The vampires are waiting.

Sometimes a health update is about progress. Sometimes it’s about admitting that your body has decided to start throwing furniture again. This week brought migraines, Illinois weather chaos, construction noise, post-surgical exhaustion, a puppy learning how to become himself, and a six-pound seafood boil that somehow became one of the week’s brightest spots. I’m not magically better. I’m still healing, still frustrated, still trying to figure out what the hell happened to 2026. But I’m here. And sometimes, that’s the update.

Sometimes grief makes the good things feel small. You can be heartbroken and still laugh. You can miss someone and still celebrate a puppy learning “sit.” You can cry in one room while somebody in another room discovers that his feet are, apparently, attached to the rest of him. This week, Luna is taking over while we try to make room for all of it: grief, chronic illness, family, puppies, service dogs, and the strange truth that joy and heartbreak can exist in the same house. You don’t have to stop loving what’s still here just because you’re mourning what you lost. 🧡🐾