A pile of stones. 

Rooby is home sick for the second day in a row. She and I both caught some stomach bug, possibly from chicken of dubious quality from not-our-regular vendor at the market. She seems to be about 24 hours behind me symptom-wise, and woke this morning hungry but exhausted. When I left for work, she’d fallen asleep on the couch watching The Wizard of Oz, hugging her stuffed dogs Toto and Snowden.

This morning she reported another bad dream, this one about “a pile of stones that was throwing things at me.”

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