C. made a giant batch of bread the other day. Usually she loads the bread maker up every day, and we share a loaf with the dogs (they like theirs with peanut butter). Lately she's been making it old-style, a week's worth at a time. She is like a bread goddess. I come from good solid Wonder-bread people, and I've tried (and failed) to make real bread, so it's like a miracle to me.
So the other day I see this monster blob thing on the counter.
32 cups of flour, she tells me. It's hearty whole-wheat dough with rolled oats and all kinds of good stuff (she doesn't use a recipe). It turns into these eight loaves, a batch of rolls and six giant breadsticks, (supposedly for dog snacks but I like them, too). So we have bread in the freezer and on the counter and I'm happy. It's nothing like store-bought brown bread – it tastes more alive, and interesting. And just plain better.
Earl, bless his heart, is doing fine. His legs are a bit lumpy but very sound. He gallops everywhere, and is a little too excited. I hope he'll settle down someday. He's a little less cute now that he's fully grown. Sometimes he's a LOT less cute. Here he is sleeping on the couch, on top of a goose-down comforter.