Snapshots...

It's been more than ten years since Ruth brought Kira home, telling us that we needed to keep her for two weeks while her owner was surfing in Costa Rica. It turned out that Ruth actually paid a friend a few bucks for her pick of the litter of Rottweiler mix pups that he was parading around and of course, she has been with us since that day. Now that she's getting old and prematurely arthritic, I just hate to see her go downhill. Kira has been the easiest dog to have around that we've ever had; she always does as she is told. “Go get the paper girl” “Lie down here, I'll be right back” whatever. She understands everything. Never in need of a leash, I could walk with her down a crowded St George Street at the peak of tourist season...she only has eyes for me. She couldn't care less about other dogs or people and stays close to my legs. If I go into a store, she sits by the door until I come out. If she is in the convertible with the top down and I tell her to stay there while I go run around, that's where she'll be when I get back. She has never shown much interest in our other dogs and sleeps in her own spot away from the others at home. I believe she thinks dogs are unnecessarily loud and crude. But if she is upset by thunder or finds herself in the waiting room of the Vet's office, she gets close to me, seeking comfort. Now we're told that the bones in her right paw are fused from her severe arthritis, and she only limps outside when she has to. It's upsetting to think that only a few months ago she would walk happily around the lake with us and now she can barely walk to the back gate. I hate this. Putting down a special dog that had been my daughter's best friend and protector years ago changed me. It was the hardest thing I've ever done and I simply won't do it again. When the time comes, someone else needs to take my best friend to her last vet appointment while I go into the back yard and cry uncontrollably, some may think unreasonably. Fortunately, today is not that day. Right now Kira and I head outside to sit in the new grass and let the intense morning sun warm us to our core. She leans up against me, as I do her, both of us blissful in the moment.

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The heat of the intense sunshine was cut yesterday afternoon by small breezes rushing gently from all directions. A perfect day for the annual St Ambrose Church fair. It's a beautiful spot with huge mature oaks heavily draped in Spanish Moss. But the rib man didn't show up for me this year and the “famous” chowder made Carla wish she had a bowl of mine instead. These two ladies enjoyed it though and insisted that I mention that they are descended from the Minorcans who came into the area in the late 1700's. The lady on the right started to pose when I asked permission to take the picture. She wanted to take off her sunglasses and put her purse and plastic bag behind her and arrange her feet in odd angles only seen in the modeling 101 handbook. I asked her not to and told her that she was beautiful...just...like...this.

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I asked Ruth if she had brought any clothes that would be good for hiking in the woods...the best she could muster was leopard print tights and kid-skin boots from somewhere in Beverly Hills...oh, and all the proper accessories of course. We walked along while she spoke to her iPhone. Turns out Siri had no idea where the hell we were either.

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Spotted on a trail in the woods while out walking the dogs with Ruth. Hunters left the hide, head, and feet. The dogs thought they had found the buffet from heaven until I had to be a spoil-sport and make them get back into the SUV to go home.
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Our house sat in a low field that didn't drain well, surrounded by mature woods which had never been logged. The cabin was built in 1729, the main house in 1856. Nothing worked as it should. Pipes that had been added as an afterthought froze in the winter and the newly installed dishwasher drained out through a rubber hose that snaked across the floor, exiting the kitchen wall allowing waste to flow directly into the side yard. It formed a toxic pool of mud and dishwasher excrement that Hannah would play in when she was just a baby. Perhaps that explains a few things about her. I worked on “K” Street in downtown D.C. and had to be all squeaky clean to properly help lead the troops. Coming home after a typically long day in the city, I would pull off the dirt road into the clearing that encircled our house. Ending a 1-2 hour commute, it was like pulling into camp Waywayyonda. I could step away from the car and pee in any direction, just listening to the sounds of the cicadas, the pings of the car engine as it started to cool, and the urgency of the last couple of beers for the road as they hit the ground, as free of their sterile containers as I was myself.

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She called me Lamb chop, sweetie pie, and loved me unconditionally. Not an easy thing to do, I'm full of warts. She wasn't perfect, I don't know who is, but she was my mom. No one ever did or ever will love me like she did. Unconditionally, unreasonably,,,and ready to go to the mat for me without hesitation ...she's gone now but I still feel it, it still comforts me. Thanks Mom.
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Although the tree canopy hid direct view of the jogger on the other side of the lake, her reflection rippled and flashed with the late sun as she ran upside down along the top of the bottom of that very same canopy. Sasha lay watching, wet from her swim, enjoying her ability to control the area under the three oaks where the bird feeder hangs. That, of course, is the squirrel zone. She can relax when she's right there. Otherwise those little bastards will run all over the yard and act like they own the place.
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Unrequited love...it's a tough life lesson for a little black teenager of a foster dog to understand that I don't want him 24/7 with the same intense fervor that fuels his own overactive engines. I mean I love him and all but I don't want to French kiss and hump very much. (OK, maybe just a little.)
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We're very proud of our two daughters & who they are as people in this world. Caring, bright, inquisitive girls who laugh easily and truly appreciate a great meal in much the same way they love life itself. Oh, and it doesn't hurt to be beautiful on the outside as well.
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So what’s the lesson here? Well if you weigh 25 pounds and value your left ear perhaps you shouldn’t try to steal the dinner from your doggie housemate who weighs 115 pounds.
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