Small Stitches

Our Golden Retriever, Vegas, recently had surgery to remove some small bumps on her back. We were most thankful that they were in a place she couldn't reach so the cone of shame was not required for her recovery. Her stitches were pink. Had she been able to see them, I'm quite sure she would have approved. Our greatest challenge during her recovery was preventing her from throwing herself on her back (where the stitches were) and squirming with delight. "Do you see that big pile of leaves?!? Let's roll in them!!" or "Do you see that pile of dirt?!? Let's roll in it!!" We would run over to where she threw herself down and stand in such a way she could only express her joy on her side. She was dismayed, to say the least.

Vegas suffers from crippling arthritis in her back and legs. She has a brain tumor with a Parkinson like tremor that is noticeable when she is tired. Her new name should probably be "Lucky". She can't walk up stairs anymore and we strap her into a sassy little harness to get her up to our second floor. She should be indignant but she wags her tail and seems perfectly happy for us to assist her in the climb.

I can't remember the last time I expressed delight when being helped. Most often I feel that I have failed in some way when I can't accomplish a task on my own. Work is crazy busy and the stress of a project which spins out of control makes my chest hurt. At no time did I contemplate throwing myself down in sheer delight in a pile of leaves.

But maybe I should. Maybe that's what Vegas is saying to me. What she is always saying to me. Stop. Kick the leaves (that the human types just raked) and smile at the absolute beauty of it all. Smile at the craziness. Ignore the stuff we can't control. Smile at the helping hand someone gives you.

It's all good. And if it's not, know that there's a rescue dog out there that loves you just the way you are.

Good-Bye Lake

On my run on Monday, a bald eagle soared over my head. The cottonwood trees sent their green leaves spiraling down in a cool, fall wind. Summer is winding down and we are packing up our small trailer and headed from the Pacific Northwest to the magical place known as Iowa.

I love the way spring fills the air with sweet, wet, smells; the way summer warms my bones. I love the stillness that winter brings. But I think my favorite season is Fall - the smell of the burning wood, the crackle sound leaves on the ground make - the amazing colors. I remember when my Mom and Dad would take us to the apple orchards in Michigan and we would pick apples and get apple cider. Every time I drink cider, I think of my folks.

Vegas is winding down as well. She is in the Autumn of her life. There is a lake in front of our small cabin here and she swims. There is a winding path and she walks. There is food and she begs. She is, after all, a Golden Retriever.

Tonight as our family walked out to the lake and gazed up at the amazingly bright stars, Vegas threw herself down on the ground and began to squirm with delight as if to say, "Thank You Lake! This was an AWESOME summer!!"

She warms my soul. I am so grateful for the Old, Gold Dog.

Black Dog and White Birds

In our Iowa household we survived the most brutal winter in our recent history by leaving. We went south to the beaches of my youth - Fort Lauderdale. This was such a blessing with our two senior dogs, Vegas (the original rescue dog) and Black Dog, our second Iowa rescue. The weather in Florida was warm and sunny. My parent's home, where we stayed, had no stairs. The dogs loved it.

I am a runner of sorts - a back of the pack sort. If you want inspiration, walk back there during a long race. It's nothing short of amazing. I run to work through the noise in my head, to find happy, to figure it all out. When I am on a beach or on a trail through the farm land, the chaos begins to make sense, at least for a few short hours. And it rarely makes sense unless I'm out for a least an hour.

While in Florida I enjoyed long, slow dog walks with our senior girls. Often there were two dogs but most often it was just Black Dog and me. She loved these walks and it was her greatest joy to chase the white Ibis birds that like to flock in the front yards and eat whatever bugs they find. She would bark and chase and pull me along like a cartoon character at the end of the leash, virtually horizontal, so strong was her desire to chase.

We would return from our dog walks and she would inform the other four retrievers in the house she has protected us from imminent danger from the evil Ibis and to stand down. All was well.

Except it wasn't. Black Dog was counting her days down, which we knew, because of a large inoperable liver tumor. She gave us three months while we got ready to say goodbye.

Black Dog let me know it was time when we went on our last walk together. She walked down the street and there was her arch nemesis, a flock of Ibis. And Black Dog walked amongst them, smiling at them, smiling at me, raising her face to the sun. I knew in that moment, she was ready.

When we left Iowa, it was shortly before Christmas, so the tree and trimmings stayed up for the two months we were gone. Today I am boxing up the ornaments and decorations. Most people have suggested that if the tree is up past St. Patrick's day it might as well stay up until next Christmas.

I can't do that. I have to have faith that in a few months when we start the season of hope, giving and love, that I will find Christmas again. I have to believe that the joy that fills our heart will find it's way back. Black Dog let me know at least once a day that it was all going to be ok. She would gently lay her head on my thigh while I worked at the computer and look up with those big brown eyes.

Thank you Black Dog. I will run until I find Christmas again. I will keep writing because you would want me to.

And I will chase the Ibis.

All is well.