Today is overcast and damp. I had hoped that I might be able to write outside, but that's not going to happen--even with a deck umbrella. Kate Brown, the Governor of Oregon, has issued executive order 20-12, which translates to Lockdown-Not-Quite-So-Lite-This-Time. Still, pretty much everyone is being strongly encouraged to stay at home and not go anywhere if they can help it. 
We're going on Day Three with a New Puppy Bull-Terrier Mix. The cats have moved from full panicked “Oh My God, it’s a dog! Stand you ground! No—puff out to twice size! No—I’m outta here!!” to Irritated Bushiness (Cicero looks like a stereotypical Black Halloween Cat) and a low growled battle song (the lyrics of which are “When the Foeman bares his steel (ta-ra-tara ta-ra tara) We uncomfortable feel..."). Our bedroom is the Cat Sanctuary, and they've taken to fleeing the house through one of the windows. Even Spencer, Cicero's brother, is on high alert, and performed his signature bound over the chainlink fence when I came out with Dog Smell on my Hands. 
Aoife pretty much wants to play with the cats. She pretty much wants to play with other dogs. She loves us, and is a leaner. She's not quite so sure about other people, although she threw doggy heart looks at some guy in a Toyota muscle car and booming hip-hop (he actually pulled over, got out of his car, and said hello). She has figured out the home is The Den That Must Be Protected, so there's some barking at the mailman. When Mark commented on how cliché it was, I responded that Cliché would be a great dog name. 
In other animal-conflict news, there's a hawk or other raptor that's been hanging about and getting mobbed by the local corvids. Just now as I was writing this, I saw a smallish--maybe a red-tailed hawk--be forced to land in a tree across the street by two crows. I was too slow with my camera to get any photographs... although I did get a woodpecker in the same branches about fifteen minutes later.
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