Happy Mother's Day!

My ten year old is a maker.  She is constantly making stuff, from rubber band bracelets to fabric baskets embellished with the sweetest embroidery you ever saw (she taught herself), to elaborate creations involving cardboard, Saran Wrap, sequins and pin wheels.  She really doesn't stop, sometimes not even for sleep.  

This morning I woke at my usual time to let our puppies out.  I could tell my daughter was already on the go because every light in the house was on and her pink coat was on the floor.  I wondered what took her outside so early as I poured my coffee but it didn't take much looking to see what she was up to.  I found the first of what will likely be many sweet things she creates just for me today.  

She loves holidays and has the most generous heart I've ever known.  I feel so lucky to be the recipient of her thoughtful, enthusiastic, personalized creativity.  She's giving a little piece of herself and I cherish it. 

It Only Matters That You Start

Some days I have so much to do I am a bit overwhelmed.  I start thinking about what needs to be done first.  Before I know it I've spent an hour spinning my wheels.  I need to remember to stop it.  I usually doesn't matter what I do first.  It only matters that I do it. 

Happiness is a Warm Puppy

Charles Schultz absolutely said it best.  Happiness IS a warm puppy.  We brought our new puppies home last Saturday and every member of the family seeks them out with a "good morning puppies" as soon as we wake and we all grin at their sweet wagging tails.  From the first night they were easy.  They went to sleep when we did.  They woke when we did.  Sure, they're not housebroken, but they are still infants so we do our best to keep them on their schedule and not leave them unattended in the house.  On Monday my ten year old was so excited to come home from school and see the puppies.  She went right outside  and I was so busy loving the sight of her romping around the yard with them I didn't want to look away even long enough to get a camera.  Yes, they are a lot of work,  but happiness really is a warm puppy.

When you're seven, holding your new puppy makes you feel very special.

We just can't get enough puppy snuggles, even if we make Hank miss nap time. 

Sunny, napping on my daughter's school things.

The cats are still a little freaked out, but even they are coming around enough to investigate the puppy space.

Sunny knew just what to do with a rubber ball.

They're getting used to their "potty corner" dog run.  They already wait patiently to get out instead of yapping or going wild when they see us.

*If you'd like to follow Sunny and Hank as they grow, I started an Instagram account just for them.  Their username is @sunnyandhank

Ghost Dogs

Rex and Ginny, last June.

I have had dogs on my mind quite a lot lately.  Last July, we lost our sweet Ginny to cancer.  Almost exactly six months later we also lost her good brother Rex unexpectedly.  We bred Rex before we knew he was sick, and his puppies were born at the end of January.  All of these dog events have been running through my brain for weeks, more than ever now that we're so close to bringing two puppies home.  It's no wonder, then, that I think I have been seeing ghosts.  Ghost dogs, to be exact.  

I have not been actually "seeing" ghost dogs, more like feeling them.  Impressions of Ginny and Rex. I'm sure I could explain it away as my brain reverting to old patterns, sensing a dog in the corner because there was one for twelve years, that sort of thing.  

This is different though.  Sometimes, I feel like one of them is someplace they never really went around the house. For example, I plan to try to train the puppies to do their business in one corner of our yard.  We have the perfect spot under some trees so there is a bit of shelter and the kids don't play there anyway.  I set up a dog run so I can close the puppies in, but while I was doing it, I swear Ginny was lying on the edge of the grass with a pine cone, waiting for me to throw it.  Of course I knew she wasn't there, but I kept feeling her, my brain kept telling me to look.  Since then I have twice thought she was lying in the dog run, even though it isn't in a place she would lay.

Then there's Rex.  I do still look for him in the corner of our room where he slept every night.  His passing is so recent, it still feels funny not to have him there, or waiting to go out first thing in the morning, but there are other things.  A section of our basement is set up with the tools and supplies my husband is using to remodel our house.  Rex never spent any time there because we don't spend time there.  We fetch the tool we need and leave.  Rex liked to be where we spent our time and no where else.  Lately though, I feel Rexy is laying by the tools all the time. Every single time I go down the stairs, I'm compelled to look for him there. Especially if it is dark, I'll actually LOOK for him before I think "What are you doing?  You held him while he died."  Yesterday afternoon,  I took the garbage out and when I came back in to the house, I felt him there, hoping to go for a walk.  

It is the weirdest thing.  I know that because the puppies are coming home soon and I am very excited that I may have a little guilt about being so excited over new dogs when really, the old dogs are barely gone.  But that wasn't our plan.  The plan was to have Rexy here to help train the puppies.  After all, Rex's father lived to be around 14 so we expected at least another year or two with him.  Also, don't these new little ones deserve to come to a home that is excited for them?  I mean, you'd have to be crazy to not be excited about these dogs, our little heirloom puppies. We still miss Ginny and Rex.  We can feel two things at once.  Could it be Ginny and Rex might still be around enough to feel excited about the puppies, too?

This isn't the first time I've felt the presence of a loved one who has passed.  So, maybe I am crazy.  Maybe my brain is making a fool of me.  Or maybe, the veil is thinner than we think.

Momentum

Momentum is a funny thing.  Once I get some, it's hard to stop me.  Strangely though, my momentum has a sense of inertia - if I change my general activity, I loose all impetus.  In January we were remodeling two rooms in our house.  The place was a construction zone mess and I didn't even try to do more than the minimum cleaning because there was no point.  In January, I read a lot.  I wrote a little.  I enjoyed January.  The trajectory of my momentum was quite pleasant.

In February, our remodel was finished. I had to pay a little more attention to the things I neglected in January.  I've only read one book instead of the five I finished last month.  I've barely written anything.  I've taken almost no pictures.  I HAVE cleaned most of my house fairly well and recovered from the construction mess.  Today, I went to switch from housecleaning mode to blogging and discovered I was just loafing around Facebook.  Then I started a computer maintenance project that has been nagging but isn't urgent, it was just a way of procrastinating.  I lost momentum.

So, I hit reset.  I strapped my laptop to my treadmill, closed everything but blogger and here I am, walking and deciding which of my posts-in-progress I'd like to work on first.  (Does anybody else think a little better when they're moving?)

One random thought:  Most people love the movie Finding Nemo.  It is one of my favorites.  One of the best moments is when Dory sings "just keep swimming, just keep swimming".  It became my motto during some rough days when I had three small kids and the great recession was eating us alive.  Recently though, I realized I was applying it in a defeatist way.  Instead of encouraging myself with it, I was  coming to think of "swimming" as drudgery.  Just getting by.  That's no way to go through life.  Another favorite movie quote sprang to mind.  Its from The Big Lebowski, and when I thought of it,  I immediately thought "But, today I'm going to eat the bear!" I like that idea.  It feels powerful and positive.  When I find I'm loosing momentum, I'm going to remind myself that I'm not just swimming along, I'm gonna eat that bear!

Road Trip! Destination: Puppies

I barely slept at all again last night, but insomnia had nothing to do with it this time.  Last night I was too excited to sleep because today is the day we will be making the six hour round trip drive to my Step-Mother-In-Law's farm to meet the Heirloom Puppies!  For that kind of time in the car, we could almost be in Disneyland.  Honestly though, right now I'd rather wallow in puppies than Disney and that's really saying something because I could happily live in Disneyland.  Oh sure, it's going to be fun to see my Step-Mother-In-Law and her husband, to let the kids run around her farm enjoying her chickens and donkeys but the star of the day will be the puppies hands down. 

Develop Does Not Mean Destroy

When people think of a new housing development, one image that springs to mind is heavy equipment grading acres, clearing the ground of all native vegetation and leveling the natural movement of the land.  The neighborhood my husband is building in right now is different. It is considered a smart desert community.  The homes are all energy efficient, low water usage designs.  They're built with a sensitivity toward their environment.  They're all set low on their lots,  all single story so as to preserve their beautiful desert vistas.  These practices really maximize the beauty of the desert setting because they are sensitive to the needs of the desert itself.  One example of the development's success hopped right up to me today as I was photographing our home's new concrete retaining walls.  Two fat jack rabbits came to see what I was doing, curious and not really afraid.  My husband says there is also a fat coyote who likes to pass through the lot.  These are two notoriously shy desert animals, and if they're still comfortable in this community, the community is probably doing something right.

Looking east.  The street in the distance is actually densely populated but its difficult to distinguish
the homes from the landscape.

Looking south.  There are three homes on this street, but none impedes the view of the other and the native
vegetation is left in place.

Looking north west.  Would you guess you were looking at a populated neighborhood?

I turned to the back of our lot and found I had a long eared friend.  Can you see him?

This guy was about six feet from me and happy to let me take his picture. His friend was more cautious, but they're obviously not threatened by construction.

In consideration of the natural environment, this project is starting with retention walls  so as to disturb as little of the lot as necessary.

So, How Was Your Night? An Ode to Insomnia

Brain distraction device?  Check
Cozy sleep headphones? Check
Comfy pillow? Check
Sleep? No check

When I was pregnant with my first, I developed insomnia.  At first it was kind of awesome because I was able to get up and accomplish a lot during the night.  After a few weeks though, then two more pregnancies during which I couldn't get up and clean the house lest I wake light sleeper babies, it became less awesome.  Fortunately for me, it more or less went away once the babies were born but sometimes the old brain still likes to work overtime and I barely sleep at all.  I usually distract it with some Netflix on my phone (I even have special headphones for sleeping) or an audiobook.  Generally, distraction works like a charm and I sleep pretty well.  That was not the case last night.   I actually composed a sort of poem about last night as I blearily stumbled through my morning.

Sleep?  Who needs sleep?

My feet itch.

My head aches.

What?  Cutthroat Kitchen is over already?

I always sleep to Cutthroat Kitchen.

{An audiobook will put you to sleep.}

So does Alton Brown.

{You keep waking up when it’s over.}

I won’t this time.

{Uh huh.}

I’m awake again!?!

My feet itch.

I should bathe the cat.

I’m thirsty.

{Don’t get out of bed!}

I wonder what the cat is doing right now.

My arms itch.

Maybe I should turn on Good Eats.

{You should go to sleep.}

I should call my mom.

{Go to sleep!}

I’m hot.

Are the cats fighting?

Let’s make a list of what needs to be done tomorrow.

{Let’s not.}

I’m cold.

I wonder if my dogs are together again now they’re both dead.

I want some chickens.

How many chickens should I get?

What kind of coop should we build?

I want to paint it blue.  

No, it should be green.

No, blue.

Four chickens. 

One more episode.  Gotta get to sleep!

{NO! Don’t be an idiot!  Choose an audiobook!}

It’s only three. 

{You’re awake again dummy.}

My feet itch.

Where should I hang our new painting?

Did I lock the truck?

I should have put gas in the truck today.

Who is snoring?

Gosh I like this new pillow.

What?  It’s already five?  

Okay, okay, audiobook, here I come.

*beep*beep*beep*

Six.

Six -thirty.

Uggggghhhhhhhh. 

{Well, at least your feet don’t itch.}

SHUT UP

Austrian Flexibility

Nature is pretty cool.  We've received 13-15 inches of snow in the past 24 hours (depending on which part of my yard I measure in).  School has been cancelled for the first time in our district's history due to white out conditions in areas.  The guys remodeling my house have had to reconfigure their work space because they can no longer cut tile in my driveway.  But this tree?  It doesn't worry about the snow, or the wind.  Sure, its branches are bending but they're only shedding the snow that continues to fall,  not breaking.  Its life is not being disrupted, it is just going on with its day.  This Austrian Pine has enough flexibility to deal.  Flexibility is a good thing.

You ought to be more flexible.
(I couldn't resist a quote from Mrs. Incredible, a.k.a. Elastigirl.)

Heirloom Puppies

Some people inherit property.  Some inherit money.  My kids have inherited a line of border collies.

A.C. (circa early 1980s) with one of the ranch buildings built by his grandfather in 1909

My Father -in- Law, A.C, was a rancher.  He worked the same ranch his grandfather homesteaded in 1909.  It was the area Butch Cassidy liked to hide in, known as Robber's Roost.  It was desolate, lonely country and he was often by himself on the ranch.  He bred his own border collies to help him with the cows and for company.  Every now and then he'd have a particular favorite.  One such favorite dog was named Bubba, a red border collie who was so beloved my Father-In-Law once bought a ruby studded collar for him.  Bubba was his constant companion, a real source of pride on the ranch.

When my husband was in college, he was given one of Bubba's offspring, an especially large and fluffy (just like his papa) red border collie with golden eyes.  He was named Hooper.  Hooper was, quite possibly, the coolest dog who ever lived.  He became the fraternity mascot, supervised job sites when my husband started a construction company, and ultimately was the reason I went out with my husband.  (It sounds funny, but I judge people by their dogs.  I figured if Hooper was such a great dog his person must be pretty okay, too.)

My husband and Hooper were even featured in an Australian western wear catalog.

The first birthday present my husband ever gave me was also one of his dad's ranch puppies. He called his dad and said he wanted to give his girlfriend a puppy.  He had never asked for a puppy before, so A.C. knew it must be for a good cause.  He sent his best.  Sadie was the daughter of the favorite dog who followed Bubba, a blocky black and white border collie named Tuffy.  Dogs like Sadie are what all border collie breeders hope to get.  She was beautifully built, her markings stereotypically perfect.  Her focus was unparalleled, as was her quick mind.  Sadie was amazing.  I couldn't believe this rancher I'd never met had sent me a puppy like her.  She was probably worth hundreds of dollars.  I cherished her.

Hooper and Sadie, patiently waiting while we built our first house.

By the time Sadie came into the picture, Hooper was getting old.  We bred them and got five wonderful dogs.  We kept the only female, Dottie.  (The rest went to live with handpicked family and friends.)  Through two sad accidents, Sadie and Dottie were both killed.  A.C. was also killed in a ranch accident.  Keeping him in our lives, even in little ways, became very important.  I became a bit obsessed with maintaining Hooper's (and Bubba's) line.

I found another dog to mate with Hooper.  We brought home two puppies from that pairing.  Ginny and Rex, also red borders with golden eyes.  They were wonderful dogs, just right for our growing family.  (They were six months younger than our oldest child.)  Over the next 10 years, we enjoyed them in every way.  When they turned eleven, I started looking for a mate for Rex.  (We'd had Ginny "fixed" when they were puppies and determined Rex to be the better dog breed wise and that he'd be the one we'd maintain the line with.)  A.C.'s wife, Glori, adopted a lovely little red female whom we bred with Rex late this last fall, when Rex was twelve.  Shortly after she went home, Rex's liver failed and we had to say goodbye to him.  (Ginny died of cancer a few months earlier.)

Ginny, Hooper and Rex on our way to go hiking.

Cedar and Rex, early in December

We were very sad to say goodbye to Ginny and Rex, but last night our dog world got much, much brighter.  Glori's little dog Cedar gave birth to ten splendid puppies.  All night long we'd get excited as news of the heirloom puppies rolled in.  The kids giggled and asked to see the video and pictures again.  We started maybe picking out the ones we want to keep.

This is puppy number four!

Nine of the ten, the fourth generation of their family in ours.

 My kids may not get to know their grandpa, but they'll know his dogs, and that's something.

Snowy Night, Silent Morning

One of my favorite things about winter is waking up to an utterly silent morning.  It snowed here most of the night and when I woke this morning, I sensed the quiet immediately.  The light filtering through the curtains was extra soft, and I knew we'd gotten a decent blanket of snow while I slept. Enough to dampen every sound, inside and out.  Moving through the house, I was the first one up.  Well, the cats were up but even they seemed to walk on softer feet.  I slipped outside with the little Chihuahua we are sitting to smell the crisp air and snap a quick pic.  We have about three inches of fresh snow on top of the two or three of crusty remnants that have been here since November.  It's supposed to snow all day today and most of tomorrow.  We should end up with a foot or so of what I'm thinking right now I'll call silence. 

Its hard to get a sense for new snow over old, but I couldn't get Sal the Chihuahua to go out in it for scale.

Portrait of a Cat: Mr. Fluffypants

The handsome Mr. Fluffypants
a.k.a. our Comforter in Chief
I call him the Elvis of cats because he has such a cool vibe. 

Mr.  Fluffypants was born on my parents' farm, the first Father's Day weekend after my dad died.  Our family had had terrible luck with cats that year (along with many other things).  My daughters were cat crazy though, and the one cat we had left was not a snuggler, wasn't child friendly at all.  I asked my mom to tame the kittens for us because we would want one.  My mom did a wonderful job of socializing the kittens.  When we visited for her birthday in July, the kittens were a bright spot during a celebration that was muted because we all missed my dad.  When we went back in August to pick out the kitten we would keep, they were all so terrific we had to leave with two instead of one.  My older daughter chose a silly guy with a mustache and white toes.  My younger chose a fluffy one who was happy to sit and cuddle all day.

The fluffy one was named Menda at first.  Then he was Mrs. Woolsey (after our sweet preschool teacher), but when my older daughter teased my younger about naming her boy cat "Mrs." he became Mr. Woolsey instead.  He was Sparkle for a time, and Sheepy, and more funny little names than I can count.  The one that stuck was Mr. Fluffypants.  It never fails to make me laugh when I say such a silly name, and he does indeed appear to be wearing fluffy pants.  Oh, we still call him Menda occasionally, but mostly he's Fluffypants.

This picture was taken not long after Menda, as he was known then, came home.  Notice the bloody knuckles on my daughter's hand?  The kitten came to see why she was crying. As soon as she picked him up, she was okay.

This picture kind of says it all.  This is what she does
first thing in the morning every day.

My daughter who chose him is an extraordinary person.  She learns faster than I can teach, has a mind that just doesn't stop.  She sees the world in such unique ways I can't wait for her to grow up so I can see how she's going to change it.  She's also very sensitive.  Small things that I wouldn't even notice can make or ruin her day.  When she was a baby she didn't sleep and was clingy but didn't want to be held.  We couldn't figure her out.  After Mr. Fluffypants came home though, she had someone who understood her perfectly.  If she was upset, she'd hide herself away with her little kitten and they'd commune.  A few minutes with him fixed every problem in the world.  Kindergarten was particularly hard on her.  She spent a good part of the year crying in her teacher's office because no one knew what to do for her.  She'd come home to our Comforter in Chief though, and all was well.  She read to him, drew pictures of him, told him about her day.  Soon, she'd come out of her room, all sunshine and smiles.  Life was good.  She'd tell me about her friends at school.  The tears weren't important anymore.  As the years have passed she has learned to manage her world.  She doesn't get as upset as she used to, and she can express what's wrong when she is unhappy.  Still though, she and Mr. Fluffypants have an invaluable bond.  He greets her when she comes home.  Curls up wherever she is.

His willingness to comfort has touched us all at some point.  Even this winter, our old dog was in liver failure.  He had a terrible seizure and when it was over was afraid.  Mr. Fluffypants walked over to the dog, rubbed on his head and licked him, obviously trying to help him feel better.  We all love Mr. Fluffypants.  No one loves him as much as his girl though, and he returns every bit of her affection.

Skye's Fairy House

 I started writing this story three years ago. We had recently moved to a new house and hadn't met any neighbors. There was a large black cat who liked to sit on our cinderblock fence. My then seven year old daughter, the cat lover, watched him and wished he would come down so she could make friends with him. I had an idea I'd write this story for her, wrote the first little bit but didn't know where I wanted it to go so I put it aside. I realized the other day though, that my daughter is getting past the age where she will like simple fairy stories. If I'm ever going to write something for my own kids, this could be my best idea and I'm running out of time to get it done. I resolved to finish the story, at least enough to call it a start. I haven't decided yet if I want to keep going with it or maybe turn it over to my now ten year old to finish. I guess I have more to think about.

Skye opened her eyes.  There was darkness behind her curtains, and her pink flower lamp glowed softly in the corner.  For some reason she felt she should get up and look out her window.  She pushed her blanket back and used her doll house for a stool because she was too short to see out without it.  Moving the curtain aside, Skye cupped her hands around her eyes so she could peer into the dark.   Yes, the cat was there.  The black cat, who seemed to live nearby, sat on the fence outside her window quite often.  Skye was pretty sure it wanted to be friends.  She waved a little then felt silly.  As if a cat would know what a wave meant.  However, the cat perked it’s ears up, as if it knew Skye was saying hello.  She waved again and the cat flicked it’s tail and seemed to nod it’s head.  

    “It’s saying hello to me, too!”  Skye thought.  She giggled and waved again.  The cat stood and arched it’s back just a bit, the way cats do when they want to rub against you.  

    Skye laughed some more and whispered “Hi pretty kitty!”.  The cat took a few steps, then turned and walked back, still looking for all the world as if it wanted Skye to pet it.  It looked directly into her eyes and laid down on the fence, gazing serenely at her.  
    “What are you doing, you funny cat” Skye said softly.  She wondered what the cat was thinking.  It was the middle of the night, and it seemed to want to play.  “I can’t play right now kitty.  You’ll have to come back tomorrow,” she said.  

    The cat yawned widely, twitched an ear at her and closed it’s eyes, as if it understood it was time to sleep.  Skye watched the cat for a few seconds, but her room was cold and she wanted to get back under her covers.  She stepped down from her dollhouse and curled back up in her bed.  She smiled to herself.  She knew the cat would be back.  She wanted to be it’s friend, too.

The next morning,  Skye was pouring herself a cup of juice when she saw the cat again.  This time it was sitting on the back fence, twitching its tail in the morning sun.  It was looking through the window, straight at her.  She gave a little wave.  The cat twitched its ear.  

“I’m imagining things.  The cat isn’t communicating with me,” Skye thought.  She wasn’t convinced though.  She wanted to the cat to be there for her, to talk to her.  

She fetched her slippers and took her cup of juice outside.  The air was cold but Skye stepped across the crusted, frozen snow toward the cat.  When she stopped by the fence and looked up at it, the cat continued to gaze at her.  

“Good morning,” Skye said.  

The cat blinked.  “Good morning,” it said.

Skye gave a startled little jump, almost dropped her juice.  

“You can talk?!?!” she cried.

“No,” said the cat.  “I can think.  I am telepathic.  That means I communicate through thought.”

“I’m not telepathic,” squeaked Skye.  “I don’t communicate through thought!”

“You do with me,” said the cat.  He lowered his chin to rest on the fence, but continued to gaze at Skye.

“My name is Smoke.  I live next door and I’ve been watching you.” his voice filled Skye’s brain.

“How do you do that?” Skye’s voice trembled.  Her hand holding the juice shook.  

“It is just what I do” said Smoke.  This time the words sounded like a purr in Skye’s ears, but her brain heard his words.  “I think all cats can do it.”

“Mine can’t!” Skye said breathlessly.  But then she wondered, could they and she had just never listened properly?

“Well, I haven’t met your cats so I can’t say one way or another if they can or cannot.  I can.  I did not mean to startle you, but I do need your help.”

“My help? What do you mean?” Skye was confused.

“I have a friend, actually, who needs your help.  I have been watching your whole family, to be honest, and have decided you are the one we need.”

Skye goggled at him.  She was feeling overwhelmed.  She knew he had been watching her but learning he was telepathic and wanted more than to be friendly was a lot to take in.

When she didn’t say anything, Smoke continued, “Do you remember the fairy house you and your little friend built in the summer?”

Skye nodded.

“You did a very nice job with it.  The silk flowers you wove through the sticks were a lovely touch.” Smoke’s words sounded like purrs again.

Skye nodded again.  She didn’t know what to say.  She and her friend Wynn had spent an afternoon building fairy houses from sticks and mud, bits of grass, berries and her mom’s fake flowers but Wynn hadn’t been able to come back to play before school started and Skye hadn’t thought of the houses much without her.

Smoke stood on the fence and stretched leisurely, the way cats do.  Skye continued to just stare at him.  She didn’t know what to say.  

Smoke jumped to the ground next to her.  He looked up and purred, “Please follow me.”

Skye crunched after him to the corner of the yard where the fairy houses were.  They were under two huge blue spruce trees.  They had been pruned so you could walk under them and be protected from the weather.  The fairy houses were still there, still next to the tree trunks, still in good shape.  The fall rains and winter snow hadn’t damaged them at all.

Smoke rubbed his cheek against one, purring very loudly.

“Come out,” he purred.  “I brought her.”

Skye really did drop her cup of juice when she saw who Smoke was talking to.

A tiny fairy had stepped out of the house.  She was wrapped in what looked like a quilt made of leaves.  Her feet were encased in tiny leaf boots.  She had bright yellow hair that poofed out in tight curls.  She looked very, very cold.  

Skye dropped to her knees.  “Who are you?” she whispered.

The fairy stared with giant eyes at Smoke first, then up at Skye.  

“Skye,” Smoke purred.  “This is Fern.  She’s a summer fairy.  She is not supposed to be here now, but she liked your house so well she didn’t want to leave when summer ended.  She thought the house would keep her warm, but it is not warm enough.  She is suffering.”

At this, Fern stepped toward Smoke, who laid down and let her snuggle against his warm fur.  She tucked herself between his hind leg and stomach, so Skye could only see her head.  

Skye regained a bit of sense and said, “Hello Fern.  I’m very pleased to meet you.”

Fern still only looked at Skye with wide eyes.  She had stopped shivering thanks to Smoke’s warmth, but the poor thing was clearly still afraid.

“It’s okay,” Skye tried to reassure her.  “I’m the girl who built your house.  I’ve always wanted to meet a real fairy.  I wouldn’t hurt you at all.”
Fern blinked.  Smoke purred.  The three of them stayed that way for a few moments before Skye realized how cold she was, too.  It was winter after all, and she was wearing only flannel pajamas and fluffy slippers.  

“Could we go into my house?  Its warm there, and I could make sure my cats didn’t bother either of you,” Skye said.

“Oh no, I would not go into your house,” Smoke shook his head.  “My people would not like it if I went in your house.”

Fern also silently shook her head, looking even more afraid than before.
“Well I need to get my clothes and coat.  I’ll be right back.”

Skye ran to the house, straight to her room where she pulled on jeans and a sweater.

“There’s a FAIRY in my backyard!” she said to herself. “A fairy AND a talking cat!!!”

She pulled her sock drawer open as her cat Fluffy came into the room.  He rubbed against her.  She picked him up and looked into his eyes.  

“Can you talk to me?” she asked.
He purred.

“Really, can you talk to me, with your thoughts?”

Fluffy purred louder, he blinked slowly.  
“Never mind,” she said, and set him on the floor.  She reached for her socks and Fluffy bumped his cheek against her foot.

She hurriedly slipped on her socks, then her boots.  She grabbed her coat and flew to the back door.  Skye stopped suddenly and changed direction.  She scurried down the basement stairs and dug into her dad’s golf bag.  Snatching a little plastic packet, she went back up the stairs two at a time, knowing full well she was being too noisy for the early time of day, but needing to get back to Smoke and Fern.  

They were still under the trees, next to the fairy houses.  

“I brought you something,” she said breathlessly.

Skye held out her hands, showing the little packet.  

“What is that?” Smoke asked as Skye tore it open.

“Hand warmers,” Skye said, shaking two little cloth bags from the plastic.  “Watch this.”

She took one little bag and rubbed it roughly between her palms.  

“There.  Feel this.”  She held it toward Smoke and Fern.

Smoke touched his nose to it and pulled back in surprise.

“It’s warm!” he exclaimed.  Fern tentatively held a hand out but did not touch the cloth.

“It’s some sort of chemical reaction.  My dad puts them in his pockets when he golfs in the cold. They keep his hands warm for hours.  We could put one in Fern’s house.  It would be her heater!”  Skye felt like a genius.

Fern was slowly reaching toward the warm little bundle.  She touched it, jerked her hand away, but reached out again.  Soon she had her whole hand resting on it.  Smoke purred on.  

Fern moved her hand away again, but not out of fear.  She very softly said “It’s so hot.”

“Yes, it gets very hot at first, but it will slowly get cooler and cooler,” Skye told her.  

“How long does it last?” asked Smoke.

Skye picked up the package and read “Six to eight hours.”

“So she would need at least two every day.  I’m sure your dad would notice if you used all his hand warmers,” Smoke pointed out.  “Besides, you would have to remember to come out and open them for us.”
“You’re right.  It’s not a good solution for the whole winter, but it could work until we figure something else out, couldn’t it?” Skye was a little disappointed to have Smoke find the ways her plan wouldn’t work.

“Could I have this one?” Fern’s gentle voice was sweet in Skye’s ears.  

“Of course you can have it!” Skye tried to make her voice soft like Fern’s.  She didn’t want to frighten her again.  “Would you like me to put it in your house?”

Fern turned her big green eyes back to Skye and nodded.  

Skye set the hand warmer inside the little house and patted it smooth.  

“There.  I hope it will warm your house today.”

Fern cautiously stepped back into the house.  She walked around the warmer, holding her hands toward it.  Skye peeked through the door and grinned.  Fern was settling herself on the floor, a little smile on her face.

“This is wonderful,” Fern said, so quietly Skye could barely hear.

Skye sat up and looked at Smoke.

“I need to build her a door.  It would help keep her warm”
“Good idea,” said Smoke.  “Anything will help.”

“Skye!  What are you doing out there?”
Skye’s mom was standing on the patio, cup of coffee in her hand.
“I met the neighbor’s cat Mom!” Skye called.  
To Smoke and Fern she said “I’d better go in now.  I’ll come back soon though.  I’ll build a door for you Fern.  Then we’ll figure out how to keep you warm all the time.”