Rudy Patootie Soup – Spicy Survival Soup



Dear Henry,

I have been so freaking hungry building my new business – Mia Malone’s Shabby Chique Boutique and Thrift. I have been surviving on two slices of frozen pizza, late at night, when Mr. C comes home from a very long day at work. I eat a banana or granola and chia seeds sparingly throughout my day to keep my energy up. Will a Chia Pet grown inside my tummy? When I can afford it, I drink a lot of honey (which is expensive), lemon and hot water, to keep my calorie count up so that I don’t drop too much weight as I am pursuing my dreams. I often get too busy to stop and eat. Some days I only eat one package of nasty, store bought, Ramen a day, when we are waiting for checks to arrive and clear the bank.

My husband and I are small business owners. This is my husband’s second year doing his side of the business. He left his successful, executive/ celebrity protection and private investigative company two years ago, to build another dream. The first year was smoother than this second year of being a small business owner. Building a small company into something larger sometimes has its draw backs. However, I am willing to do what it takes to get from point A to point B. When I am feeling very hungry, I view Instagram profiles of foodies, food lovers, chefs, and passionate people who love to cook and who post savory photos of what they create. I also view recipes and dream of better days ahead.

Prior to this new, occupational adventure for Mr. C and I – we had successful businesses. Life can often be like a Chutes and Ladders board game- sometimes you are winning in life and sometimes you have to start your game all over again. We always try to take our mishaps and failures in life, and use it to propel us forward in another direction and rebuild our dreams.

One week ago, I had to kick my twenty-five year old daughter out of my home. I attempted to let her – her three children – ages 5 years – 1 Year – and a 1 month old infant – to live with me. I was gracious enough to permit her male friend – who I nicknamed Mr. Space Brain, stay with at our home. He’s very nice – but smokes way too much pot and is unmotivated – oh yay! He has no job and has lived with his parents a majority of his life. He’s 27 and does not work a real job. I believe that he has had a simple, easy life, with people in it to take care of the responsibilities which he should take care of himself. I thought he would help my daughter transition better into my home. I needed strong muscles to move boxes and furniture. My husband had to work from 7:30 a.m. until midnight. He couldn’t help move them in.

My daughter and I have not attempted to live together since the love of her life tragically passed away on Mother’s Day 2013. It was a nightmare due to her extreme grief. WTF was I thinking to try it again three years later? To be honest, I’m glad that it didn’t last long and I have my silence and alone time again. My personality is made to be around dogs and not people. I am socially awkward. I’m way too ambitious and my daughter is much too lazy and spoiled – my fault. I hope that she grows into an ambitious woman, much like her grandmother, aunt, step-sister, and mother. If she happens to discover her ambition and determination – I believe that she can do great things in her life.

My daughter’s father is fifty years old and doesn’t like to work and never has. He still owes me a shitload of child support and cries whenever he is taken back to court by the county to pay what he owes. I am not initiating the court appearance. I could really give a fuck. I know that my time is better spent building a business versus waiting for hours in a courtroom, for them to scold him to pay his child support. Oh how I’d love to be a fly on the wall when the judge tells him what for. I don’t expect much from him – haven’t since I left his lazy ass. I believe fighting for child support is a waste of my time.

When I was married to him I worked three jobs, endured many surgeries, had a failing immune system, and went to college full time at Cardinal Stritch University. I also served on top notch committees and volunteered for numerous, non-profit organizations, to enhance my resume. For the past year I have been building a new business inspired by my daughter’s negative life experiences – such as Mr. Idiot ( the guy she met after the love of her life passed on) going to jail. I’ve been working relentlessly from the early morning until the late evening. I don’t really eat much until after Mr. C gets home from an exhausted day of work. I had been diligently creating my “Tribute to Bill Ward Collection” when my daughter’s Meth Head boyfriend – not Mr. Space Brain –  Mr. Idiot, went to jail and my daughter couldn’t pay her rent for two months. I actually should have had him help with the move instead of Mr. Space Brain because meth heads love to clean and remain busy.


My husband and I paid for my daughter’s rent – September and October 2015. We had sacrificed the money we saved diligently for months to go to New York City, during the New York City Burlesque Festival. I was supposed to perform at Miss Bonnie Dunn’s Le Scandal Cabaret on the Saturday evening when the NYC Burlesque Festival was going on. I applied to the NYC burlesque festival, but didn’t get accepted. I felt honored that Miss Bonnie Dunn had booked me to perform, when such a spectacular burlesque event was occurring in New York City. I had dreamed of performing at Le Scandal months before I became a burlesque performer in Minneapolis – ever since I met her at Eroticon, an erotic writers convention in New Orleans. Miss Bonnie Dunn could have hired big named burlesque performers from all over the world, who were performing in the burlesque festival. My name is not really known in the world of burlesque. For numerous years during my burlesque career, until after I recovered from my illness in 2015, I have spent my money to produce large scale, high quality shows or purchase costumes and magic tricks, instead of paying for travel and registration fees to get into the burlesque festivals.

Unfortunately, we could not go to NYC because I had a stress fracture in the foot which I had surgery on five years ago. Wearing high heels for decades, being a passionate, dedicated, Go-Go dancer at Ground Zero Nightclub in NE Mpls for over six years, standing for long hours creating art work for the Minneapolis Television Network Mural Project, and creating the art for the Minnesota Black Music Awards 2010 and 2011, has completely fucked up my feet. Regardless of my agony – I feel the sacrifice was well worth it. I have also been a dedicated walker for a majority of my life. I can wear out an expensive pair of tennis shoes in less than eight weeks from all of the miles I have traveled by foot.

I haven’t written you a letter in awhile because I was very sick with Grave’s Disease for approximately three years, which is a hyper-thyroid condition. I also had to take care of my young granddaughter at the same time I was experiencing illness. My heart beat rapidly, feeling like it would explode from my chest if I exerted myself – my liver spiraled downward. My eye sight was blurry. My hands and body trembled. I ate over six thousand calories a day and lost a drastic amount of weight. I thought that I had Parkinson Disease. When I began to feel better, I walked eight miles per day. After several weeks of walking many miles per day, I suffered a stress fracture –  damaging the thin, delicate, metatarsal bones in my left foot near my toes. I also couldn’t perform in the Minneapolis Burlesque Festival 2015, which I had been accepted into. I had to cancel. I performed my “Mia Loves Henry Miller” burlesque act at the 2015 Twin Cities Burlesque Expo – a few months prior. I re-injured my foot after being out of my walking boot for 15 minutes, almost six weeks after being diagnosed with a stress fracture. I thought that I’d be okay – not!


A Minneapolis, burlesque photographer – John Lombardi or possibly Dennis Driscoll – happened to capture the look of severe pain on my face as I was performing my number on stage at the infamously haunted, Historic Mounds Theater in St. Paul, when I felt the injury occur. I wore that fucking walking boot for over six months. I couldn’t enjoy the summer of 2015. Instead of feeling defeated – I created items for the boutique. When I finished my burlesque number after the Twin Cities Burlesque Expo – I grunted and growled in agony backstage.

I really wanted to empower my daughter and give her hope that she can make it in life, leaving Mr. Idiot and supporting three children on her own – if she used her talent, creativity, purpose, determination, dedication and a lot of elbow grease. I’m tired of being a starving artist, never being able to fully survive financially. My journey has taken me fifteen years so far. I no longer have my benefactor/lover in my life or his financial support. It’s been over three years since we parted. I still miss him. I am also relieved that I don’t have to juggle two relationships at one time. I have more time to pursue my dreams. I am disgusted with dick heads who think artists should do a job for free and that exposure is my payment – fuck off. I still need to eat you dumb shits, pay bills, and survive. Do you think I possess special powers like a comic superhero and can get by without food or shelter? Would they go into a store and say to the cashier, I can’t pay for this – but I’ll give your store exposure? I work way harder, more passionately and longer hours than most people without physical disabilities. I’m done living the life of a starving artist, so I decided that I’d start to create functional art that has a better chance to make money.

After dealing with unmotivated, way too quirky or snobby boutique owners, my husband and I decided to open up a boutique and unique, thrift store – featuring artistic, handmade items and the finest, uncommon, second hand items we have hunted for over the past year. I will be searching for serious, dedicated talented people to sell their items in my boutique on consignment in the upcoming months. We will be opening this late summer or fall in the Grigg’s Midway Building in St. Paul. My husband has had an office in this infamous, haunted building for well over a decade. He works for Property Management. He does the security for the building – never permitting any type of crime to occur. This is where his old company – Icon – resided – an executive protection and private investigative company. Icon is known for doing security for celebrities like Usher, J Cole, Kelly Rowland, Diana Ross, the St. Paul – Hill Family, Tara Reid, Michael Bolton, and so many other great talents. One of their employees had been the head security for Prince for numerous years.

When my husband isn’t protecting the building and the people who have office space there, he’s fixing their computers or tearing old, non-useful ones apart to recycle. The storefront is connected to his office. The wall needs to be re-opened that had been built to separate his office from the large storefront. A utility sink needs to be installed before we think of moving in. There is a workshop space where I can create inventive items for the boutique. Messy Mia requires water to clean up. There is a large window for people to see me working from the storefront area. I plan on using my storefront window, which faces Fairview Avenue – theatrically. We have been waiting patiently for this retail space to be available for six months.

I’m determined to make money and own a successful boutique. When I was producing a top notch, burlesque show – every freaking penny I had went into it to pay for its production. It generally cost $1500.00 per show. We paid that monthly for several years. I’m done with being an artist who doesn’t sell my art or produces burlesque/variety shows or performs burlesque and magic for free or a minimal amount of money. I am creating functional art with mostly recycled materials. My budget is low. I am grateful for Pinterest – the Craiglist free section – and other creative individuals throughout the world. I can’t wait to tell you more about this awesome project. My adventure so far has been magical.

I’m literally taking trash and transforming it to treasure. I’m going to make enough money to self-publish my first, fifteen letters written to you with Hillcrest Media – where my stepdaughter loyally works. I don’t want egotistical, greedy, fuck heads to take what I deserve and what I have worked hard for. I have been writing my book of letters to you, Henry, for over a decade. I have sacrificed so much to live a great life – to travel and experience my life with gusto and purpose- in order to write a great story. I don’t want people who have not spilled as much blood, sweat and tears as I have to make more of a profit than I.

My point in telling you this is that for the past year my home has appeared like Martha Stewart barfed all over it. I have been on a super huge, creative binge. My daughter and Mr. Space Brain were supposed to help me clean it up and organize it when they moved in. Her friend did a lot of work, but required much of my attention to direct him. It took a lot of continuous, verbal prompting to get my daughter to move her ass. I have had more success job coaching the mentally retarded and severely disabled. My daughter has ADHD and possibly other diagnoses that are undetermined at this time. My son, who doesn’t like to work – has Tourettes like me – he doesn’t swear. I wanted to teach my daughter creative skills and grow a business with her. I was going to teach her so many skills. We were going to haul ass creating stuff for the boutique and getting it ready. When I was pissed off – loudly venting to my mother on the phone, barricaded in my bedroom, they left – leaving lights on – doors open – a garbage heaping with dirty diapers, garbage on my floors and dirty laundry left in my living room which appeared worse when they left than when they first arrived.

My daughter thinks I am a bitch and she did nothing wrong. Mr. Space Brain left his gross, dirty laundry in my living room. All of my crafting supplies were scattered all over my living room floor. We could’ve accomplished much more if I spent more time directing Mr. Space Brain and not having to take care of my daughter’s children as she talked with her friend Kiki on the phone and text messaging others. It’s difficult to keep my daughter focused. She’s never finished high school and has been in special education since a very young age. She is very, emotionally intelligent in many aspects of her life and not so smart in other areas. She is also a strong survivor – reminding me of a cat who always lands on her feet. She has the optimistic attitude that everything will be okay- and most often everything works out for her.

On the first day of moving my daughter in, I took care of her small children, attempting to give Mr. Space Brain directions, cooking, making play dough for my granddaughter, who had a broken collar bone on the first day they arrived. It broke right before she arrived at my home. She had an accident at her biological father’s home with his large dog.

“She has a broken collar bone – take her to the ER now.” My son broke is collar bone at the age of two. My granddaughter’s collar bone area was very swollen. My gut instinct knew immediately it was broken.

“I don’t have time,” my daughter said.

“Naw,” Mr. Space Brain replied. “It’s just torn muscles, and a rash like carpet burn from getting tangled up in a dog’s leash.”

I put my granddaughter’s arm in a homemade sling, made with one of my bandannas. She helped me more with one arm, than my daughter did. She’s a trooper who hardly whined or cried – much like me and my mother- tough as nails – born to survive anything. I finally convinced them to take her to the hospital many hours after they arrived. I was correct about the broken collar bone, which enraged me.

Before they left for the hospital, leaving me with all the responsibilities of moving them into my home, I gave my grandchildren baths, feeding them, etc, as my daughter spun in dizzy, aimless circles with her thumbs up her ass. She did manage to put some of the Martha Steward barf in boxes. I still don’t get how so much shit hit the floor and didn’t make it into boxes – wtf!??? Quite frankly, I am so glad the nightmare is over and her stay didn’t last. I tried. Sometimes mothers and daughters don’t get along.  I sure didn’t want to live with my mother at her age. You couldn’t pay me enough money to be 25 again.

What really irritated me was that I told her that I’d watch her new baby as she went for milk when she returned from the emergency room. It took her over 45 minutes to return. The store is at the end of the long, neighborhood block which my home resides on. I can walk there and home again in less time. When she and Mr. Space Brain returned, she sent her friend inside as she smoked cigarettes and talked on the phone in his car for two hours and fifteen minutes. The poor guy had no idea how to take care of two, small boys. It was difficult to let go of the situation and have him deal with it himself. He tried to leave all of the responsibilities with me – I refused. I am not a babysitter or someone you can take advantage of. Please don’t abuse my good heart and generosity. I am very calm, until you do something rude to piss me off – action and consequence. When I confronted my daughter about this incident, as well as talking on the phone with Kiki – she freaked out on me – instead of apologizing and returning to her tasks – attempting to rectify her situation with me.

My dogs were completely freaked out by the negative energy that hovered in the air like thick, heavy, storm clouds. I felt very toxic and angry. My fifteen year old dog, Rudy Valentine Patootie (Jack Russell, Scottish Terrier, Cocker Spaniel – mix) has what I refer to as Pica. It’s common in some people with mental retardation. My dog liked to eat things that are NOT food – like beads, sequins, glitter, buttons, thread, as well as the crotch from seven pairs of my irreplaceable, vintage jeans. Rudy also devoured the crotch from my husband’s boxers. I will tell you this funny story of my husband’s boxers soon. I can’t recall all of the items he has eaten in the past fifteen years and somehow survived. I have observed him spiraling downward for the past six weeks. I suspected kidney failure. He drank more water than usual and took over five minutes to pee. Towards the end of his life, I had to take him outside more often. He was old – but not near death. Mr. Rudy Patootie Pica Mouth ate one of Mr. Space Brain’s dirty, gross socks, as well as a bunch of other things.

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I don’t have an artist loft any more in St. Paul to work at.  I create in chaos at my very small, simple home in the suburbs. My chaotic disorder and my messy process of creativity can really irritate my husband on some days. I am called Messy Mia. It’s how I work. I can’t help it. I am who I am. My mother would beat my ass. I always attempt to keep my dogs – especially Rudy – from getting at my art supplies and other miscellaneous items like our laundry. I wasn’t always successful. I hope to tell you some funny stories soon about how ridiculous this dog was. But, I loved him so very much. I think that he had a bowel obstruction on top of possible kidney failure and was getting worse each day. I am empathetic. It was torture to my soul to see him suffer. I don’t want the end of my life to be like his. I don’t want to suffer.

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My husband purchased four ham bones, hoping it would make the dog shit if he chewed on one. Rudy refused to indulge in this special treat, so I stuck them into a large, soup pot and made my own recipe – Spicy Survival Soup or what I now call – Rudy Patootie Soup. First, I tossed some dry beans into the pot – navy beans, pinto beans and black beans and water. I had been saving them to make beads for jewelry. I also used a majority of my remaining spices like a lot of red pepper flakes, salt, pepper, garlic salt, onion powder – and a ton of black pepper. I love spicy food – especially when I’m dealing with Minnesota spring allergies. It helps with clearing a stuffy nose.

I prefer to use fresh ingredients, but didn’t have the cash to purchase them on the first day of my soup. When you are hungry, you use what you have and make the best of it. I learned that from my mother who experienced severe starvation escaping from North Korea into South Korea. On the first day of making my soup, I was unsure if pinto beans and navy beans would go together. I had only eaten pinto beans in dishes like Mexican re-fried beans. But, when you are hungry – you use what you have and don’t complain. The soup was thin and watery the first time I ate it. I had to eat it with two slices of buttered bread to satiate my large appetite. I devoured it for lunch and dinner. I don’t believe in cooking anything fast. My best meals are when I cook it long and slow. I could never compete in a television, cooking show, because I like to take my time when I am creating anything. If I am going to take the time to create something – I want it to be exceptional. It’s a curse and a blessing that derived from my mother.

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On the second day the soup appeared richer, thicker, spicier and savory. I ate it for breakfast, lunch and dinner. It tasted good, but not great. On the third day, after we said goodbye to my very best friend, my husband’s checks cleared and a bit of cash flowed in – I purchased big, thick, colorful carrots, fresh corn which I cut from the cob, two cans of black beans, and fresh, large mushrooms at Aldi’s grocery store in a St. Paul suburb, where the quality of the produce is spectacular. I had eaten most of the beans the prior day – much of my soup stock remained.


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I couldn’t work on the art projects I had been creating yesterday, due to feeling heavy in spirit and massive heartache. As I chopped my ingredients, I cried for the loss of my dog. I smiled remembering all of my fond, loving, happy memories that I had of him. My tears dripped passionately into the simmering pot of soup with my new ingredients. I also discovered some chili powder in my nearly bare cupboards and added it into the soup on the third day – making a great soup taste fabulous.

“I hate shopping at Aldi’s,” Mr. C grunted like a cranky curmudgeon as I rushed through the small grocery store, dashing past elderly women and stay at home mothers with their children – prior to my husband leaving for work. “It’s like shopping at the dollar store.” He grieves differently than I do – taking the loss of a great dog – pretty hard. Mr. C doesn’t cry often, he lost it when he had to say goodbye to Rudy.

My total purchase was less than half of what it would cost at the grocery store where they sold name brand items – $17.00

“Fuck you – dick head. There is nothing wrong with this food. The produce is awesome and some of the products taste better than the name brand items. You will bitch to me when you pay $7 for my organic granola at your favorite grocery store. At this store their Simply Nature granola cereal with chia seeds and large coconut flakes cost less than $3. This cereal tastes better.”

He didn’t say anything to me when he paid the bill – realizing that he spent half of what he would’ve at the grocery store he preferred.

On the first, second and third day of cooking my soup, I put it on the stove top, simmering it on a very low heat, from the early morning until dinner time – allowing all of the spices to become richer, deeper, more complex. By the third evening, the pinto beans had made the soup thicker and more savory. I don’t think that I have appreciated eating something that tasted so good. I only wish that I could’ve afforded bacon or chunks of smoked ham, fresh garlic and green onions. It would’ve enhanced and deepened the complexity of flavors.

As I work diligently creating products for my boutique, I often dream of eating a delicious meal at Manny’s Steakhouse in downtown Minneapolis, when I am successful enough to afford it. The last time my family dined there was when the horrific tragedy of the 35W Bridge had collapsed. We took Mr. C’s son there for his 21st birthday.

The Rudy Patootie soup tasted fucking fabulous! I didn’t have to eat two slices of buttered bread to make me feel full on the third evening eating this delicious, spicy soup. I really wanted to top it off with fluffy, baking powdered dumplings – my favorite. I was much too hungry to take another step preparing my dinner, before devouring my bowl of steaming, hot soup.

It’s almost 5 am. I went to bed early yesterday evening because I was emotionally and physically drained. I woke up at 3 a.m. I had remained awake the night before in my living room comforting my dog on his last day on this plane of existence. I nodded off for a bit. When I woke up, Rudy somehow made it to the dog dishes in the kitchen, where it has been his job to guard them so the other dogs don’t woof it down too fast. I hope that he is enjoying his next adventure with his dad, who we lost three years ago at the age of 17. I imagined him playing with his daddy and his brother Shadow, who passed on a year ago from heart failure. Yesterday morning, I carried Rudy’s weak, heavy body outside to enjoy the great outdoors, one last time before we said goodbye at the Humane’s Society. I bawled my eyes out, crying like a baby when I left him with two, very kind employees. I don’t believe in funerals. I don’t believe in cremation of my pets. We donated his body to the University of Minnesota, so students can learn the anatomy of dogs. I feel that was the best way to let Rudy go with some dignity – making his existence worthwhile. Rudy’s mother and sister, Gia and Molly Jean, will be departing this life soon. I love Gia more intensely than Rudy. She was named after the supermodel – Gia – requiring more attention than Rudy demanded. What I loved about this gentle, amazing dog was that he never expected anything. He never required the spotlight.

Rudy was born with a pink nose. He was the largest in the litter of 3 puppies. He was a piggy, fighting for the most milk, pumping his mother’s tit with his cute, little paws to force the milk to flow faster. He was a very naughty puppy. I will tell you a funny story about a wig he destroyed after a burlesque show soon. I love others so deep and passionately once I decide to let a person or creature into my life. I am grateful to have a family of Chihuahuas, which we breed a few times a year, to help ease my heartache. We couldn’t find it in our hearts to part with Frida and Diego when they were born 9 months ago. They are extremely special to me, happy, loving, unique and inspiring. I will tell you more about them in another letter. The weird thing is – Diego acts much like Rudy, only they share no bloodline. They were so similar in behavior that my stepchildren were positive that Rudy and mama Chi Chi (beautiful, rescued Chihuahua) got it on. Rudy was neutered – it’s impossible.

Diego Rivera Malone – nickname Diggy – helps ease my grief for Rudy. I am so glad to have this extremely happy and loving dog in my life right now. Someday I am going to find him an all black, beautiful, female chihuahua with a different bloodline to carry on his unique looks and personality. I want to name her Selena after the late, great singer, who has greatly inspired me to dream big and work hard. Diego is only 9 months old and the size of a Jack Russell dog. I didn’t think Chihuahuas could get so big. He’s not the kind of Chi that you carry in a cute bag.  Frida Kahlo Malone is very small for a Chihuahua. I have to carry her everywhere because she is too frightened to explore. I’m sure the world looks very large to her. I will tell you more about them in another letter and why I find them so special.

I am ending this letter and taking a short nap before I begin working on the Paper Mache Clay Project. I plan on attempting to make porcelain clay in a few hours. It’s difficult to use cookie cutters with paper mache clay. I believe when you are not satisfied with the results – find a better way to do it. This will be my sixth attempt creating a gift for a very special woman who I call my Mary Godmother, for Mother’s Day.  I have experienced a lot of trial and error with this project. My birth mother wants a gift card to buy craft supplies, so I can devote my time to finishing this gift for my dear friend and mentor, and not have to worry about creating a gift for my mother. I have a feeling that I am going to go in a different direction with this project. I originally wanted to create jewelry for this incredible, strong, intelligent, empowered woman – my Mary Godmother. But my muse whispered in my ear this morning “Home décor project. Make use of the cardboard/garbage derived from all of the frozen pizzas you eat.” I wanted to get this gift done by her birthday in late April, but wasn’t happy with the results I was producing. I will tell you more about my Mary Godmother soon and why I love her so much.

I also want to tell you about a project I am working on – up cycling old furniture – creating functional art that will hopefully stun all of the people who see it. I have been working on it for over three months – 6 am to 10:30ish every day. (To my blog readers – to follow the progress on my creative endeavors – follow Mia Malone-Jennings on Instagram and Twitter. Facebook can fuck off for awhile- stupid, idiot hackers. I always find a way to move beyond what stops me.

I don’t like to waste items that can be re-used in another way. Last night I brought out all of the carrot peels to the woods in my backyard. When I took Gia and Molly Jean outside to pee and take their last shit for the night – we witnessed a majestic Doe dining upon the large pile of carrot peels. Rudy would’ve been barking loudly with excitement, pulling hard on his leash to chase after the deer. I smiled, grateful I could make an animal happy with what I would’ve tossed in the garbage.

During the past couple weeks leading up to Rudy’s departure, I took him outside with a leash on. I let Gia (GiGi Le Poo – her burlesque name) and Molly Jean Wigglebutt, roam freely in my large, beautiful, backyard. We inherited over an acre of gorgeous land. It’s been in Mr. C’s family since he was born. I feared Rudy would run into the woods if he saw a deer or a fox to chase after them. When I walked him back into the house, he slipped his head out of his collar a few times, as if to say, “I can break free at any time. I am refusing to do so, to keep you calm.” What a guy!

Last update on Rudy Patootie Soup – I was exhausted last night- went to bed early. I forgot to put the soup in the fridge. I won’t be eating my delicious soup today – awwww! Instead of pouting and eating nothing- I prepared the last of my eggs to fill my empty stomach. I still have so much to do today. However, my eyelids are drooping with drowsiness. I need another nap. Before I drift off to sleep, I’m going to relieve some stress.

It’s great to be writing again, Henry. I hope to write another letter to you very soon.

Bisous, Mon Amour



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