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.