The old dog lies by the fire in the old farm house. He is content and quiet, enjoying the moment and at peace with the world. In the distance the raven calls, but his ears have turned inward now, somewhere between dreamland and the sound of his heart beating. The old house groans under the strain of the frozen air outside, frost threatening to creep into the bones of the ancient wood. Still it stands, loved and welcoming to all who enter. The dog knows. He rests while outside the others do the work. There is a quiet ticking of the hot fire heating the cast iron and in silence two gyro fans rotate from the rising warmth, sending it outwards in the pretty living room. Some nails have started to pop through the well trodden wooden floor, telling of years gone by and better days. Still, the quaintness of the home permeates the atmosphere and the hearts of all the guests, four legged and two. It is a cozy place to stay on a cold and frosty day.
Fluffy writes daily about the experiences on the farm and with the bed and breakfast patrons.