Mud Paws
a character can't be described having darker colored paws/legs without me hitting them w my pointifcation beam <33
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Played in the hose today!!! Sprayed it up in the air and let it rain down all over me!!! Super fun (and helped with the summer heat)!!! ∇≧ω≦∇
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i found out where molly was digging 😭😭 i caught her in the act this time. she was behind the shrubs, which is one of the only places with dirt in the backyard. and she was really digging up a storm omg. it's not like her!! i am wondering if a cat or other animal pooped back there or something, that's the only reason i could imagine her wanting to dig so badly
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Slash has always been my best dog for nails/feet but can be really sensitive about his back feet (i've found malamutes pretty ticklish foot-wise), but today he let me do his back feet fully cooperative on his terms with no jerking away. always nice to get to this point.
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Yk what kind of dreams i am getting nowadays... Just extremely realistic visions of my house being dirtied and everything messed up... Is this a sign from God to keep my house clean or is this just my subconscious phobia(s) manifesting
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@rejectory / hannibal & will / as plotted ↷
Unsure... how he’s gotten here. Will’s arm shakes so violently he has to grab it with his uninjured hand; he’s soaked from the rain, trembling softly all over.
He must’ve driven himself one-handed. His left hand doesn’t function; he can feel all his fingers, can technically move them, but doing so sends a searing pain so strong through his veins that it blurs his vision a little... Though maybe that’s just the rain in his eyes. Barefoot, in his pyjamas, the cold of the rain burns his skin as it hits him.
Dragging mud with his pants’ legs, he shelters himself almost flat against Hannibal Lecter’s front door to get away from the worst of the rain, and knocks rapidly.
It’s the middle of the night.
It’s the middle of the night but he has a large fishing hook through his palm, between the delicate bones of his hand, and while he doesn’t think he’s bleeding (some of the blood is wet, but it’s the rain, soaking the dried blood all over again), his options... He’s not sure how he’s gotten here, but it does seem better than the ER. He doesn’t feel like explaining how it happened. Hannibal knows he sleepwalks. Well, now he apparently also sleep-rams-sharp-objects-into-his-own-flesh. A short, dark laugh escapes him; how’s that for crazy? He’s harmed himself while unconscious, or just forgotten about it. Hell, he’s driven a car, in some semi-conscious state. Without even having put his shoes on. Maybe he does need to be locked up. If he can injure himself like this without being aware of it happening, how long until he begins to harm other people?
When the door unlocks, he doesn’t even look at Hannibal, just slinks in to the foyer like a cat, still dragging mud with his feet. Lifting his hand for his psychiatrist to see, ❝ I need... I didn’t know where else to go. ❞
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