Moose

This is our Moose. As an eight pound dachshund he weighs about 1/100th of the animal that most normal human beings are referring to when they use his name. He turned ten years old on my birthday this year and he's blind. Not "blind as a bat" blind, since bats can actually see, albeit poorly, but more like "blind as Helen Keller" blind. He has not always been blind but lost his sight rather suddenly last August due to bad genetics, and it has fallen to us to make his life as manageable as possible, mainly by keeping things in their place. This is a daily battle with a busy child in the house, but I think Moose has gotten used to the fact that the play room, at least, is never the same place, morning, noon, or night. Although he'd have an easier time of it if he was more than an inch or two of the ground—as it is he trips over the slightest things, including a flat piece of the favored, and often in use, train track—I think he's used to it by now. The rest of the house we try to keep to a relatively unaltered map, including the front step and garden. One thing we can't help, though, is weather.

Who put that snowbank in my way?