Books!

Some time ago I was asked about my favorite pastime as a child. That was a long time ago, but I didn't have to do a lot of thinking before answering. My favorite way to spend an afternoon was leaning against a tree trunk, curled up in chair, or stretched out on a blanket on the backyard lawn with a book! I read Albert Payson Terhune's books about Sunnybrook Farm and the collies that lived there with the Mistress and the Master. It was all so real to me that I could hear the breeze ruffling the leaves of the trees at the edge of the great lawn out in front of the house, and smell the sweet scent of blooming roses wafting up from the gardens in the cool of a summer evening. I could smell the warm coats of Lad and Bruce as they lay at the Master's feet in the sun and feel their cold noses as they accepted an absent-minded stroke from the Mistress as she sat reading in her lawn chair.

I read the Black Stallion series by Walter Farley and imagined horses to be the most noble creatures on earth (next to collie dogs, of course). I'd doodle horse heads on any scrap of paper laying near to hand, and daydreamed about the home I would live in one day, when I was old and married. There would be a kennel and a stable, exercise yards for the dogs, and large corrals over sloping meadows where the horses would graze, and run, and spend their days. There would be woods near the house where I could ride for hours in the dappled shade on smooth paths that wound through the undergrowth. I would walk the dogs there too, in packs of 5 or 6, meandering through the trees as they explored every scent and trail.

I read every Zane Grey novel of the old west that my Grandfather owned (and there were a lot!). I yearned for a time when visiting a neighbor meant a day's ride, a time when character was more important that wealth or education or peer groups. I loved the descriptions of the prairies and the desert and the mountain passes. Those descriptions were so vivid, that when I grew up, and began to spend time in the deserts of Southern California, I felt as if I had come home. It's still a place I love. The heat, the clear mornings and big starry night sky, the flora and the fauna are all a welcome retreat for me when we can get away for a few days. I'm especially fond of early spring when the wildflowers first bloom.

I read the Box Car Kids, Nancy Drew, and dozens of others; but my favorites were books about animals. White Fang and Call of the Wild, Black Beauty, and so many others! We moved around a lot when I was growing up, and I've never made friends quickly or easily, so books became my friends! I learned the Dewey Decimal system and the workings of the public libary early on and was never without someone to play with, something to do, or somewhere to go. I don't think many days of my life have gone by without the presence of an open book, a stack of books I want to read, and a stack of books waiting to be returned to the library, loaned to friends or given away. I no longer carry one with me, having learned the value of reaching out to the people around me, and the isolating barriers we can build when we stop reaching out to those we come into contact with, but there is always a book on my night stand, waiting for a few moments of pleasure at the end of the day.

Do All Good Dogs Go To Heaven?

I guess it's a question that many have an opinion about. Some insist dogs do not go to heaven, others feel the topic an abject waste of time. Still others feel that heaven would be a poorer place without them. I don't know whether or not dogs go to heaven, but I know that when we have to say goodbye to them here, it's painful and it's difficult, and they leave a huge gap in the lives of those they've shared space and time with.

Rick took my Stepdad and Cookie, my Mom's 16 year old companion and best friend to the vet yesterday where her pain became a thing of the past. I remember her sweet little face early on, when she was just a pup. Bright eyed, eager to please, tail sweeping back and forth gracefully. I remember how she'd give Mom a high five on request and how she'd eat her cookies quickly and then move on to Beau's as well. I remember the way she'd watch my Mom with her little black and tan head on her paws and hurry to get up and follow if it looked like Mom was going to leave the room.

I know how much Mom is going to miss her. Even Clay's eyes weren't dry as he and Rick left the vet's office holding only her well used collar and leash, missing already the wagging tail and soft brown eyes. Sixteen years is a long time to live with and love a sweet little dog; but it's not nearly long enough. Only Cookie's inability to climb up on her favorite chair; the way she circled a favorite napping spot on the carpet, unwilling to lay down when getting up again had become so difficult; and her shame at not making it out the dog door in time to avoid soiling the kitchen floor could convince my Mom to surrender in the battle to keep Cookie with her. She trusted my Mother to care for her, to provide for her and protect her... and to know when she'd had enough. My Mother kept that trust.

Cookie's pain is over, but Mom's will be a long time fading.

A Family of Women

I looked at this photo this afternoon, and was soon thinking about the relationships behind
the photo. The complexity of personalities, experience, and emotion defy description! But, oh, are we blessed by them! It's often too easy to dwell on the difficulties of a relationship, and to take for granted the wonder of someone who knows you at the core of your experiences. Far too readily I can forget that I have been there in their weaknesses, just as they have been present in mine; it's too easy to forget all that is good and comfortable and supportive and strong. And far too easy to dwell on past hurts, unresolved conflicts and differences of opinion.

These are the women in my life who know me and who love me. Who depend on me and on whom I depend. They have added more to my life than I can even acknowledge! There is strength in them that defies any weakness of appearance, and love in them too deep and steadfast for expression. These are the women in my family, and I wouldn't trade or change one of them!