I join staff of 60 Minutes

Not really. But I did pick up a camera last week and do some filming for the first time. (See bottom right on the screen, and please don't read the story.)

It wasn't exactly hard hitting documentary work. I shot a lot of wagging tails. That said, I now know how to correctly use phrases like, "establishing shot" and "b-roll," which makes me feel pretty cool.

This is the second time work has made me feel cool in the last two weeks. Last Monday, we published a front-page story I wrote about Indiana soldiers who were exposed to toxic chemicals in Iraq. It was so up my alley that I dreamed about it for two nights. (I never said I was cool, mind you, just that I sometimes feel that way.)

To catch up: Earlier this summer, our editor nearly gave me an anxiety attack by abruptly taking me off the features desk and assigning me to the military and education beats. I love talking to soldiers, who I see as a foreign yet intriguing species. But I'd almost prefer to parachute into a war zone than sit through some of these school board meetings.

I've had to learn about school corporation budgets (not exactly a strength) and write about them in under twenty minutes. The resulting stories are so painfully boring that my mom can't even read them. But I haven't had to write any corrections so far, so that's a miracle.

(Now if I could only get a handle on my own finances, I could declare true victory. My credit card debt almost rivals the school corp.'s deficit.)

When I go into work today, I'm looking in to donating plasma.

($200 a month if you donate regularly. Who can say no to that?)

At first I thought they were kidding...

Last week, I accompanied my parents to a nearby farmer's market. Sole purpose: to have a puppy pumpkin photo shoot. More photos to come.

Blogs.

Like they need to be updated.

Like regular updates are at all key to their appeal and success...

Sorry. I'm back!

I'll get to excuses (some good, some not-so-good) at some point, but for now the updates:

We have two new fantastic roommates at the Haynie B&B. Cole, the oldest, is almost five months now. Size-wise, he's like half of a skinny adult golden retriever. Personality-wise, he’s a little like me: loves attention, likes food even more, can be both overly confident and overly cautious, and has a tendency to slam into walls and doors.

Ella, the youngest, is about three fourths the size of Cole and twice as feisty. She's both a biter and a licker and has 'pick me up' eyes and a patchy, cream and golden coat. Of the new crop of Haynie roommates, she's definitely the most spoiled.

Watching my parents interact with Ella and Cole is sometimes a bit like having a childhood flashback. Cole sits silently underneath the dinner table, bothering no one as he chews and drools over a white dog bone. It's one of many in the house, but Ella suddenly decides she needs to have it. When my parents aren't looking, she ambushes Cole and rips it from his mouth. Cole chases Ella and tackles her, she whimpers and wails, and then my parents yell at Cole and cradle Ella as if she's the most innocent puppy to ever touch her over-sized paws to earth.

Some things never change, I guess. Cole, like some Haynie's before, will have to adapt to an unfair world.

Perros, Schmeros.

Parros sounds nicer.

What would mi maestra think?

Tonight she'll be thinking, "Donde esta Devon?" Because I'm skipping my Spanish class in favor of a much-needed beer.

Weddings, Christians, Gigantic Turtles

Please forgive me for letting everyone look at a picture of a dead dog for over a month. Not cool. I can't believe I did that, especially considering other interesting, blog-worthy developments in God's Country.

It's been a busy few weeks. I went on a midnight ride with the police, went hunting for a gigantic, Loch Ness-like turtle (more on this later), and infiltrated the ranks of some of the area's most tech-savy Christians. The spring and a recently purchased iPod-car-converter thing have elevated my serotonin levels (bye Miley, and thank you. It *is* the climb), but not so much that I couldn't let the tears loose at a beautiful wedding in Maryland and at touching memorial service in Houston.

I have now moved on to "Intermediate beginners Spanish," which means I can tell you what my name is, ask your name, and tell you how many ventanas are in mi casa. (Mi maestra and I have discovered that numbers and time are not my thing. But they're not exactly my thing in English, either, so I've decided not to stress.)

In other good news: The Haynie B&B is getting not one but two golden parros in August. And these aren't any old parros. The parents of these two puppies are more accomplished than I am: we're talking therapy dogs, "Best in show" champions, etc. I'm prepared to be overshadowed. But I'm excited to make two great new friends.

All for now. I'm at work, and should do some.

Rough night, rougher morning, sad day

The Haynie B&B/Writing Retreat lost a much-loved housemate today.

The owners aren't doing so well; the journalist tenant is touch and go.

The end came suddenly. Just a week ago, she was leaping over logs, barking at the night and licking over-cooked scrambled eggs off of breakfast plates. Then, yesterday, she couldn't stop throwing up. And she continued to get sick through the night and this morning. The vet said it was probably a tumor or liver disease. My mom had her put down around noon.

The house is eerily quiet tonight. Everyone's alone with their memories.

I'm picturing her beside my bed, looking up at me with the same doe-like face she had since she was a puppy.

We got quite close these last few months; we liked having each other around.

I'm really, really going to miss my friend.