Being Different

Sometimes life gets too busy. You are swinging from chandeliers trying to get the project live. You run from work to soccer practice and life is spinning just so fast. Your puppy is a little dog. Your rescue dog is a grand old dame.

Writing for me has always been important. It centers me in a way almost nothing else does. I try to capture the moment, the feeling with words.

Today was a school day for the dogs. Pause here and roll your eyes upward - I know I do. They go to a doggie day care twice a week and play and sleep and make puppy friends. For months our shy Black Dog, Sadie, would do nothing more than sit by the human types at the school, unwilling and uncertain on how to play with any dog. One day, a friendly Dalmatian, Ivy, decided that Sadie would be her best friend. Ivy would lay on her back by Sadie and paw at her until Sadie finally relented. Ivy broke through. Ivy knew that under the shy, scared shell, was a Black Dog waiting to do a crazy girl dance.

I am so grateful for that spotted dog. How many of us have walked away from someone because they were different?

Vegas lays at my feet, her soft gold fur curling around her feet and neck. Sadie has already padded up to bed.

Our story is just beginning. The Rescue Dogs and me.

Hot Soup

Good News – the Duke is home. John Wayne shares his home with my Mom, my brother and three Labradors: Becky, Bear and Sam. The fondness for big dogs is genetic. I arrived on Sunday after an uneventful trip from Iowa to the big city. The taxi driver asked where I was from and when I responded “Iowa” he looked visibly shaken. I’m not sure why.

Dad is feeling better but still a little woozy. Upon arriving home, first thing he did was bend down and give Mom a kiss. Mom and Dad have lived all over the world (Dad’s a Navy man); raised three children and many more dogs. My house was the house where all the kids played because of these wonderful parents. They have survived the loss of their first child, their parents and more falls than I care to count (and I am counting). And no matter what tragedy or mishap falls in their lap, they do what they have to do and go on. They have absolute faith in God, in each other and wrap it all up in corny jokes and hot soup.

This is what makes me strong. This is their gift to me. I got that for the first time tonight.

And while I am ever so grateful to have Dad home, my heart breaks for my beautiful family in Buffalo, NY who lost their pack leader, Aunt Norma. The Iowa Girls send all their love, always.

John Wayne

The funniest man I know is my Dad. He is a complete corn ball. Every Christmas we share a joke. “Do you know what happened to the cat that crossed the desert?” Answer: “It got Sandy claws”. It’s a classic. “Do you want a roll?” Answer: “Get down on the floor and roll.”

He’s also the guy that you go to if you want a puppy. He’s a sucker for puppies. He’ll blame Mom or me or a myriad of other people around him, but he is the culprit for bringing more dogs into our family than any other person. And they rule his world. After Mom of course. Last fall when he was hospitalized he gave me instructions for giving the dogs pills. “The vitamin C for Becky gets wrapped in cheese, not salami. Bear likes his in salami, not cheese. Sam doesn’t get vitamin C but gets the blue pill in the cheese, salami combination.” I have this wrong of course and Dad will let me know what the correction is shortly after this publication. His world is run by routine and thereby, so is ours. Shoes are polished Sunday nights. Clocks are wound Sunday morning at 9:10 because that’s the optimal hand position for winding clocks. I used to describe him as John Wayne which is still not too far off the mark but there is a strong sentimental side showing as of late. Dog movies, regardless of whether or not they are sad, make him cry. When Dad cries, we all cry. I mean, how could you not cry when John Wayne cries?

So John Wayne is in the hospital again this evening after having fallen from a ladder trying to hang up his University of Michigan flag. Michigan is in the final four and that is reason to celebrate. Tonight when I arrive home late, I will bend down to listen to Sadie and Vegas say their puppy prayers. I will embrace them and let their sloppy kisses wash away the scared feelings I pretend not to have but they can smell.

One paw at a time.

Pasta and Paws

I don’t know if anyone else has this particular genetic disorder: Pasta Perplexia. My perplexia usually manifests itself when adding noodles to a pot of boiling liquid, such as in the case of soup or dumplings. The dry egg noodles will expand in liquid. However, at the point of dumping noodles in liquid Pasta Perplexia wipes this out of your brain – you are simply rendered incapable of estimating how much to put in a pot. So I add and add and add and the noodles expand and expand and expand. I’ve been doing this for as long as I’ve been cooking. Someone should shout out “Walk Away From the Noodles” when handling them. I believe I have a gallon of noodles now living in my refrigerator. It’s the dogs I look to for my compass, my true north. When everything else begins to cloud and get icky, including the noodles, there is my big, lovey Golden Retriever with the big lion shaped paws. Vegas can be oblivious to almost everything around her except the one thing she’s fixated on such as the swimming. I am like this. But when my universe starts to tilt, she knows it. She brings me her formerly stuffed rooster, lies by my computer in her bed sending me her good vibes and reminds me that some days, it’s all just a bunch of bad kibble. Other days, it’s tennis balls and squirrels and dog parks. One paw at a time.

Born Again

The rescue dogs and I have come through a long and hard winter. Sadie is currently sitting by the front door barking at the parade of walkers who are embracing this blustery day of sun. I am always taken aback by the humanity that warm weather brings out. In winter, you are sure you are the only person who lives on the street. It is Spring. It is Easter. And we are all so, so hopeful that winter has finally come to an end.

We celebrated today by going to the dog park. Apparently it was the choice of many dog families throughout this Iowa town. Our dog park is not too far from town but far enough so that you can believe you are in the country. Today, the wind was strong enough to blow Vegas the Golden Retriever's ears straight back. As she roamed about at a distance, she smiled at us, laughing at her own dog jokes in her head. Vegas has always followed the beat to a different drummer. I have always admired this about her.

Our black lab, Sadie, as you know, is a rescue. There often seems to be a question mark in her face, "Are you going to leave me?" although we see it less often, the longer she's with us. And never at the dog park.

At the dog park, Sadie finds joy. Shy Sadie is suddenly brave and friendly. She gallops. It's not a run or a jog - it's a gallop like a horse where front and back legs move in unison. She darts in and out of the bare wooded areas. She runs up to us, checks in and then she is off again.

Born Again. Today we celebrate the Love that is born again. And the hope it brings that we will all be found, all be rescued and all be loved.