The End of the Day

Have you ever seen a dog run in their sleep?  A little motion from the front paws, a quiver of a cheek muscle - signs that a dog is dreaming.  I imagine Vegas is having dreams of chasing squirrels on fences, an untended hamburger, swimming in a sea of tennis balls.  The thing is, Vegas does not dream with tender quivers of paws, Vegas dreams with a full out run.  I do not exaggerate about this fact (like most others).  I had a call one day from the day care she attends (yes she does attend the day care twice a week and LOVES it) by a concerned (new) staffer who was sure she was having a seizure, so violent she becomes in her sleep.  By day, mild mannered Golden Retriever, by night - I believe in her dreams she becomes a Whippet.  She leaps in the air with grace for the frisbee, retrieves tennis balls from the forest tree tops and does so with such speed that she is but a blur. 

Sweet Vegas in real life is no Whippet.  She drags her back paws ever so slightly due to a congenital abnormality and she struggles with standing and stairs on bad days.  There is no indication of pain so far.  Today when I dropped them off at school there was another woman who had just dropped her big dog off and Vegas went up to the woman, big head raised wagging her whole self and saying with undeniable joy, "I AM SO GLAD YOU ARE HERE!!"  For that moment, she brought perfect love and acceptance to a complete stranger.

Never underestimate the power of a gentle nuzzle or a big dream.

Sweeeeeeming

My parents gave me the most amazing gift when I was but a young tadpole – swimming. I love that chlorine smell on my skin. It can take me back to my childhood as fast as fresh cut grass, the ice cream truck and orange push-ups and 70’s music (Rock the Boat). Today I swam laps at lunch for the first time in years. I smiled for the entire sixteen minutes I swam, remembering all of the swim practices, swim meets, and underwater tag games that are so much a part of my history. I love being able to do something that connects me to a part of myself I hadn’t seen in a while.


Vegas and Molly don’t swim in Iowa as much as they would like but they know about swimming. They do it quite differently. Molly swims like she runs – with complete and utter abandonment. All four legs swim in opposite directions and you know she is thinking, “I am HOT!” You can’t help but laugh at her. Vegas, true to her Golden Retriever roots, is completely OCD. She will be so tired she can barely hold herself up and she will bark when the pool party gets shut down.

When I go to my parents, all five dogs go swimming in the pool (sweeeeeeeming as it is called). My parents dogs (Becky & Bear), my brother’s dog (Sam), and Vegas spend the time retrieving tennis balls and the like that we throw for them. Molly, the free spirit, chases one ball down and then spends the remainder of the time running circles around the pool playing keep away. The thing is, no one else is chasing her. She jumps in the pool from time to time, but the rest of the pack ignores her. And she is completely oblivious to their indifference.

I love to swim. May we all find the tennis ball of our dreams and chase it down with reckless abandonment. Like Molly.

Family

For Matt, one of the bravest of them all.

It may come as a surprise to you I was 40 years old when Vegas and I moved away from dog cousins, parents, brother and friends to start a new life in this strange and wonderful place called Iowa.  I think you know better than most how fast life can change.  Sometimes the change can be wonderful and exciting and fun.  Sometimes the change can be scary and totally unwanted. 

Trust me when I tell you that Molly and Vegas, for as long as they want us, will be part of our family.  I may have rescued them but they really rescue me every day by how much they love us.  You see, you and I may not have been born in to the same family, but God brought us together, just like He brought Vegas and Molly to us.  God knew I needed someone like you to teach me how to fish, how to laugh, how to not take life so seriously.  Emma has taught me how to relax and pretend, and E has just become this beautiful and disciplined young lady who acts with grace and determination.


Did you know that your Mom is one of my best friends?  She found me wandering around France and asked me if I needed a friend? I said yes of course because your Mom is cool.  And she makes me feel tall (because she is so short).  Every day I ask Molly and Vegas what do they want to say to the world? Tonight they said they want to make sure you know how very much we all love you.  They want to make sure you know that you are (in the words of one my favorite all time movies, Homeward Bound) one of our favorite boys. 

We are today and for always, Family.

Almost Home

My parents have a saying that they have LAPradors, not LABradors and this is most true for our second rescue who is a LAPrador mix and loves my LAP. The second dog that came to rescue us came with the name Coreopsis. I’m sure you will agree that this is neither a good name for a flower or a dog. The day she came home we started tossing names out at her and Molly is the one that caused her to perk her ears up and smile and so she picked her name. But that was only the beginning.


Nickname Number One: Molly McButter
During the season of baking cookies, I had left two pounds of butter out to soften. She ate them.

Nickname Number Two: Darth Molly
When Molly is most content and happy, she will issue forth a most bizarre sound from her throat that sounds very much like Darth Vader breathing. I believe she learned this guttural form of communication while living as a street dog with unsavory cats.

Nickname Number Three: Grappling Hook Girl
In the morning, Molly and I play a game where I pretend (or some days don’t pretend) to be asleep and she stares me down from the end of the bed. When I don’t respond to the stare down, she inches forward with her paws curved. She then uses her paws as grappling hooks and using my knees, elbows or other body parts she finds, climbs her way up to my face. If I have successfully ignored her up to this point, my reward is a face full of kisses. I love this game.

Nickname Number Four: Velcro Girl
Molly follows me around from room to room to room to room, rarely leaving me for more than a few minutes. I take a bath, she waits outside on the floor with her nose between the toes (the infamous NBT). She loves the other humans and Vegas (the Golden Retriever rescue) to be sure but for reasons I don’t entirely understand, she has named me. Granted, I may be a little easier with the dog biscuits. I hope it is because she has finally had her question answered, “Am I home?”

Oh yes Velcro girl, you are home. And it’s home because you are here.

Good Enough

Strong work ethic, desire to do one's best, be the best possible parent, sister, brother, child, spouse, worker, and most often a combination of all of these.  We strive to have bodies that are strong, hearts that are open and optimistic, and minds that are nimble.  We want to protect the ones we love from any pain. 

I watched Vegas and Molly in the backyard as I was grilling sweet potatoes and peppers.  Molly runs like a young deer with new legs.  She is going on eight years old.  Each leg goes in a seperate direction and the greater her joy, the more uncoordinated she becomes.  There was an episode of "Friends" where Phoebe runs with complete abandon - this is our Molly and we call her Phoebe when she does this.  Well Molly got her joy run on, Vegas laid in wait for the neighborhood cat (laying, laughing on the other side of the fence), and I realized that neither of them were worried about being better dogs.  They simply were content with what they were doing.  I spend a lot of time wishing I could be a better something and don't feel all that great about myself when I miss the unrealistic high mark.

I ate dinner and Vegas collapsed on the floor at my feet, tired from her cat waiting and tennis ball chasing moments.  I reached down to scratch her neck, under her chin and she tossed her head back as I knew she would.  If she had long hair it would be falling down her back.  Vegas smiles that smile and that is enough.  She is enough.  We are all just enough.

Dogs and Dads

Happy Father's Day JR!

My Mom is the pack leader but JR is all about the dog.  Big dogs were always a part of our life.  The first dog that I remember was an English Setter named Duffy.  At the age of five, my memory of Duffy is of her chasing me around the back yard trying to grab the seat of my pants with her mouth.  We lived near a lake and on Easter the Easter Bunny brought some ducks to live on the lake.  Duffy, true to her nature, found these presents and retrieved them.  And there the ducks were on the doorstop for the small children to find on Easter morning.  With the memory of the traumatized children fresh in her mind, my mother traded Duffy for some Sycamore trees.  That tree farmer said that Duffy was the best hunting dog he ever had. 

I love that when I visit my parents in Florida, we have more dogs than people in the house. I love that Dad won't watch a movie where a dog gets hurt. I love that Dad's best friend is Mom. 

If I were to describe JR to you, think John Wayne but smart. One of my favorite memories of all time is my first trip home from college where I flew in from UNCG to the Miami airport.  Dad said, "I'll meet you curbside".  I stepped out on the curb with my luggage and he had a look on his face like he had just found his favorite tennis ball. 

When I remember that moment, I know I am loved.

Raindrops on Roses...

The second of two thunderstorms has rolled through Eastern Iowa tonight.  Vegas is afraid of thunder.  She will wedge herself between the couch and the ottoman and by virtue of hiding her head under the ottoman she becomes invisible.  There have been many days this week when I also wished I could hide my head under the ottoman and become invisible. 

The promise of the squirrel dancing on the fence tomorrow brings me out.  

A dog of note: Molly.  Molly is a yellow Labbish rescue from Iowa.  She joined our family a year after I moved to Iowa.  There are two Retrievers rescuing and being rescued here.  I've set the record straight.  Straight as it can be...

Car Rides

I've witnessed the complete abandon with which some dogs ride in cars. With little regard to personal safety, they stick their head out the window, their ears flop up and down and the tongue hangs out to the side in an almost embarrassing fashion.


Not Vegas.

Vegas is lifted into the car. I think this is the first breach of dog dignity. You see, Vegas cannot lift herself into anything as she was born with a bad back. This bad back also causes her to walk with a distinct swagger. Vegas will then curl up in a seat (or dog bed) and I get the distinct impression she is saying to herself, "Go to my happy place, go to my happy place, go to my happy place."

I remember from when I was very young, bench seats in cars. You don't see bench seats much anymore although I'm sure they still have them. I remember lying in the front seat (when that was still safe) with my head on my Mom's lap as she played with my hair and Daddy drove. It is what safe feels like. This morning Vegas reminded me of that feeling when she reached out and placed one big paw on my thigh and eased her head on to my leg.  I tossled her ears and wondered if this is what safe felt like to her?

The wonderful cut grass smell is lingering on the feet of dogs tonight. 

Proof Positive

Last night we saw summer's first fireflies come out.  There were only a couple of twinkles in the yard but it was there - proof positive of summer.  I was walking barefoot through the soft, wet grass and Vegas dawdled around every bush, every leaf, every twig as if it was a brand new discovery.

"Did you see this rock?!?  Wait, wait - what about this one - holy cow!! (It's a rock bed).  I am watching the fireflies and she pads over behind me, nose pointed down and nudges my hand with the top of her head.

I ruffle her ear and she's off.  Sweet girl, sweet summer night.

First Post

A red headed girl named Vegas - that is the charming, sleepy face above.  She came with the name Vegas, neither of us at the time had ever stepped foot in a casino, let alone Las Vegas.  Her brothers and sisters apparently were all named after the poker game. 

Tonight is a muggy, slow, drowsy summer night in Iowa.  I was getting lost in the TV, a re-run I had seen many times.  TV is a slow drip anesthetic, and one I use more often than I care to admit.  I turned to look at Vegas and there she sat staring out the window to the driveway.  She was waiting for Mama Kitty (the best cared for homeless cat you will ever meet).  Vegas was watching the driveway in the same way most people watch a tennis match, looking left, then right, then left again.  This lasted about five minutes.  I crawled over on the floor to sit and watch beside her.  As soon as I was next to her, Vegas smiled a big grin (she is dictating to me as I write that it was NOT a Cheshire Cat grin) and licked my face and proceeded to bring me a small stuffed reindeer.  Prancer I believe. 

I was pulled out of the self indulgent gravity of the recliner and re-run and into the big lion-shaped paws of Vegas.  It's the very smallest of moments that turn your life, ever so slightly, forward.