Enter the Doula

A nice woman.  A self-proclaimed “cat person,” which is good, as upon entering our house she was immediately accosted by Dengue the Cat, about whom Kelly blurted out: “Her name is Dengue. Like the disease;” which is both true (yes, dengue fever, aka “breakbone fever,” is a horrible disease and yes, that’s where we got the name) and not true (I like to think it’s more of a cool name from a euphonic standpoint rather than that we were insensitive enough to name our precious little kitten after a disease that  kills thousands of people every year…like, what, we’re going to name our next pet Syphilis?), but regardless it being maybe not the best thing to reveal, unasked, to a woman who practically burst into tears at the thought of circumcising a hypothetical male child.

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No dolphins. Only snow. And baby.

Maybe it was when we came upon a crevasse on the logging road—a thin fissure where a creek cut through the ten feet of accumulated snow—and instead of abandoning our snowmobiles for our snowshoes and humping up the last steep mile to the survey-site, Kelly’s work-mate convinced us that if we shoveled more snow on the one narrow and slanted snow bridge that spanned the creek we could drive our snowmobiles over it. It was late afternoon with the snow coming down, there was no cell service, and we were many, many snowy miles from our vehicle.

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