a puppy tale

When Bobo died, we couldn't cope with it.  Not any of us. We didn't know what to do.  We waited six months to get another dog, and  that was too long.  It was too long for poor, lonely Lucie, hiding under the kitchen table, and it was too long for us. This time we didn't wait so long.  In fact, we didn't wait hardly any time at all.

We have always strongly believed that releasing our dogs from suffering is the final act of love we can show them.  Accordingly, when it was obvious that Lucie's failing kidneys were shutting down, we watched her even more closely.  When the morning came that she could barely stand or walk in the grass to relieve herself, we knew the day had come.  We took Lucie to the vet for the last time.  It was a very sad day for all of us.  Here's the thing that was sad - and I want to be very clear about this - it was that Lucie had gotten so very sick, not that she was put down.  That was a blessing.  And I don't use that word lightly.

Ben and I had already been exploring the internet to see what it would take to get a new puppy.  I thought to get a bichon, like Bobo, but Ben was sure another cockapoo would be best for us.  Why waste all the research he had done before we got Rufus, he reasoned, and I had to agree.  We knew things would be different here on the east coast, but even at that, I was not prepared for the prices breeders were asking for cockapoo puppies. The breed is not recognized by the AKC yet, so, of course, the dogs are not considered purebreds.  In spite of that, breeders were asking upwards of a thousand dollars for a puppy (!)  When I asked one breeder with whom I was corresponding if that price was the norm, she never even deigned to reply.  Many breeders have months-long waiting lists, as well, with non-refundable deposits expected just to have one's name added to the list.

All this is to explain how I ended up at the Greenfield Puppies website.  Greenfield Puppies serves as a brokerage for Amish dog breeders in Pennsylvania.  Yes, that raised all kinds of red flags for me.  I have read about the Amish puppy mills and wanted to avoid them at all costs.  Still, this seemed like an outlet that needed to be further explored.  I found a photo of an adorable female cockapoo puppy and called the phone number for her breeder.  I found myself talking to what sounded like a very young man, who assured me that, yes, that very puppy was still available.  Yes, we could come out and see her over the weekend.  So I made an appointment, assuring Ben and myself that it was an exploratory mission, and that we probably would not buy a puppy.  We were just looking.

That was how Ben and Julie and I found ourselves driving through the rolling hills of southeast Pennsylvania on a beautiful spring morning, through the heart of Amish farming country.  Once we got off the highway, it was pretty clear we were not in Kansas anymore.  Or perhaps we were.  The large farms on either side of the narrow roads had horses in the barns and laundry hanging on the lines.  A farmer tilled a field with a tiller pulled by three large work horses.  Cows grazed near a small stream that ran through a pasture.  It could not have been more bucolic.  I have never seen the like.

We turned into the driveway of one of the farms, and drove slowly up a hill to a huge barn, with outbuildings and a farmhouse beyond.  A dog barked, and a teenage boy emerged from the house, followed by a beautiful little Yorkshire terrier.  From his thick, bowl-cut hair to his huge, bare feet, Jonas was the very picture of an Amish youth.  We explained that we were there to see the puppies, and he led us to two large elevated cages (rabbit hutches perhaps?) right next to each other that held a barking mama dog (Darla) in one, and six roly-poly puppies in the other.  The Yorkie and two other dogs followed along, all of them seeming happy and well-fed.  One of them was Danny, the puppy daddy, who looked like he was wearing dark brown socks, but Jonas opined it was from getting in the manure behind the barn again.  We were absolutely certain that this was not a place where animals were misused or mistreated in any way.

Then we saw the puppies.  Who doesn't love puppies?  There were two females in the litter, one of them clearly the puppy whose photo I had fallen in love with.  Jonas got the girls out for us to look at, and we took them to a little grassy rise behind the cages so that we could see them romp around and interact with each other and the other dogs.  All three of us pretty quickly zeroed in on "Lilly", the puppy I saw initially.  I looked up at Ben from where I squatted next to the puppies and asked him, "What do you think?"  "I think we should get her", was his reply.  And so we did.

Ben handed Jonas a hundred dollars in twenty-dollar bills as a deposit, and we arranged to pick Lilly up the following Saturday when she would be eight weeks old.  We did not receive a receipt nor give Jonas our full names, although he did have our phone number.  We drove back down the rutted driveway, surprised and excited at having just purchased a puppy.  And realizing we had a week to prepare for her.

closure, of a sort

A few years ago, Ben and Julie and I spent the day in Oberlin. While Julie and I shopped for yarn at Smith's Furnishings & Floor Coverings on College Street,  Ben left us to take some photos - or so he said. He actually circled back to a shop we had visited earlier that day to buy a beautiful handmade box I had admired. I thought it matched my dresser exactly, with its quilted maple sides and rounded edges. I was surprised and delighted when it appeared under the Christmas tree for me later that year. I put it on my dresser, and there it sat, looking lovely, but now it has a different use. It holds Lucie's cremated remains.

The animal hospital called me last week to tell me that Lucie was back and ready to come home. I know that sounds strange, but I knew exactly what they meant, and drove over to pick up her ashes. They were in a small sealed box with the inscription I had requested on it: "Lucie Noëlle, October 21, 1998 to May 1, 2012, She loved to smell the flowers." The only problem was that the box was plastic, made to look like wood. That bothered me. A lot. Lucie was a classy little lady.  No faux wood for her.  I had to find something attractive enough that we could leave it on the side table next to the covered urn that held Bobo's ashes. I could place the plastic box inside a larger box, I thought.   First I considered the miniature cedar hope chest I received when I graduated from high school. No, that would be too big. And, besides, some of the things stored inside that little chest had been there for more than forty years. That was out.

Then I thought of the beautiful wooden box that sat on my dresser. That would be perfect, I thought, but the plastic box will never fit inside there. The only way to be sure of that, however, was to try it. I took the few pieces of jewelry that I stored there out of the box, and once again admired its smooth, polished exterior. I  noticed the soft velvet interior. Perfect, I thought again. If only... I placed the plastic box inside the wooden box and closed the lid. How well did it fit? Like it was made for that express purpose.

I had saved the dried remains of the first ever rose that bloomed on my new rose bushes - a rose that Lucie was too ill to smell - and placed that inside the box, as well. The fit of the boxes was so perfect that the small dried flower barely fit there. I placed the box next to the beautiful ceramic urn that holds Bob's ashes.  There, I said to myself, there.  Lucie is home and where she belongs.  I felt comforted.  I feel comforted.

a period of adjustment

I don’t understand why the house is so much quieter with Lucie gone. I can’t remember the last time she barked or even growled. I would hear her shifting around sometimes in the chair in Ben’s room or hear her tags rattling when she shook off, but that was about it. She didn’t jump down anymore or click off to the kitchen to get a big, noisy drink of water. She hadn’t chased around with Rufus or fought over a toy with him in a very long time. And yet, it is so quiet here now.

Ben says it is because she was such a big personality in such a tiny package. Once Julie left, Lucie was pretty much in charge around here. We all wanted to know, what is Lucie doing right now? We frequently searched the house until we found where she lay napping. It is hard not to do that now. Rufus still does it. Yesterday I saw him sniffing very carefully at her leash where I had left it lying on a bench in the kitchen. I removed it, but found him sniffing at the same spot later in the day.

Rufus has always been a clingy dog, but it seems to me like he sticks closer than ever to me right now. And that’s okay. His little world has been turned upside down, and he really doesn’t know what could happen next. Our job is to make sure it is something good.

Does that mean a new puppy is on the horizon? Well, sure, probably. But I am surprised to find that I don’t want one right now. It seems right that the house should be strangely quiet. We have lost our tiny dictator. We have lost our little love. That needs to be recognized and accepted. Then we can move on. Then we can fill the house with the all noise and energy and excitement that a new puppy will bring. We’ll know when that time comes. We’ll be ready for it.

golden slumbers fill your eyes

We sang Lucie a thousand songs. Most of them didn’t have words, maybe – and some of them didn’t have much in the way of a melody, either – but we sang to her day and night. I liked to sing to Lucie when I carried her from place to place. I didn’t really give much thought to the songs I sang, and more often than not I noticed it was a college fight song I was humming into the soft, fluffy, fur on the top of her head. Because I was raised in such an odd way, college fight songs were my lullabies. I shared them with Lucie.

Julie sang to Lucie, too. Her songs were extemporaneous, and the styles varied widely, from polkas to marches to scat. They were all sung with great gusto and enthusiasm. The songs Ben sang were just between the two of them, but I know he did it, all the same, holding Lucie close so only she could hear. I like to think that Tom sang to her, as well, after Lucie won the hard-fought battle for his affection.

Yesterday afternoon after Julie and I took Lucie to the animal hospital for the last time, I noticed the song lyrics that were playing over and over again in my head without my even knowing it: “Sleep, pretty darlin’, do not cry. And I will sing a lullaby.” I can’t sing without breaking down right now, but this song goes straight from my heart to Lucie. It is my final song to her.


Once there was a way to get back homeward
Once there was a way to get back home
Sleep pretty darling do not cry
And I will sing a lullaby

Golden slumbers fill your eyes
Smiles await you when you rise
Sleep pretty darling do not cry
And I will sing a lullaby

Once there was a way to get back homeward
Once there was a way to get back home
Sleep pretty darling do not cry
And I will sing a lullaby

I really hate this part

I have been mad at Lucie for a long time. I have been mad at her because I want her to straighten up and fly right. I want her to settle down and behave herself. I want her to buck up and be like she used to be. She is not going to do any of those things. I am not mad at her anymore. I wish I were.

Lucie has always been a remarkably stubborn dog. When she didn't want to eat, she wouldn't eat. When she didn't want to play, there was no tempting her, by canine or human. When she wanted to ignore you, she ignored you. She is like a cat in many ways.

Lucie is the only dog who ever bit me, although I must admit I never blamed her, as I provoked her into it. I laughed at her teeny, tiny, little warning growls at me because they were just so darn cute. Lucie ruled the roost over both Bobo and Rufus, although in recent years Rufus has realized that she has lost a step, and frequently runs right over her, or nips at her when he thinks we don't see.

Lucie sleeps most of the day now. She can't always jump high enough to hop on the couch or the chair in Ben's room. The beds have been beyond her for a while now. She lags far behind on our morning walks. She only hears the loudest of sounds. This morning she walked right into the gate and was very startled by it. She hadn't seen it, probably because her eyes have grown opaque with cataracts. We carry her in and out to go potty, and she is still really good about going outside and not in the house. She hasn't eaten breakfast for the past week. Last night she ate her dinner only with Julie's urging. If she doesn't eat her food, she can't take her meds, as I have mentioned before. Without food, of course, she grows weaker and weaker.

Lucie is old. She is failing. And even with all that, I can't bear the thought of losing her. Wish I could get mad at her again.

you can never take the same vacation twice

I honestly don't know how many times Ben and I have been to Chincoteague over the past thirty-five years. I know we have stayed six different places: the Sea Shell Motel on Willow Street, the Driftwood Motor Inn (when it boasted the only elevator on the island), multiple times at Dovekie (later renamed "Sanderling"), Bayside Cottage, the Island Motor Inn Resort, and, this past weekend, Panorama, just across the channel from the Assateague Light.

I have been trying to figure out which place I liked the best, but, you know, I can't decide. When I am there, wherever I am staying is the best because I'm on the island then. I guess I liked Bayside Cottage the least. We had already made reservations to stay at Dovekie that year when the realty company called and said someone wanted to rent it for the entire month so we were out. They suggested Bayside instead. What could I say? We took it. The master bedroom was minuscule with no closet (it had been converted to a tiny washroom) and no dresser. The bathroom off the kitchen had the tiniest shower I have ever used (and I have stayed in a hostel in Manhattan!) and the washer and dryer were locked shut so that we couldn't use them at all.

I have to admit, however, that every day after we had showered off the beach sand and suntan lotion, and I had rinsed the bathing suits and done the lunch dishes, it was a great pleasure to go out and sit on that little screened-in front porch on Main Street and watch the world go by. Neighbors worked in their tiny yards, and the mailman said hello as he walked by each day. I watched pleasure boats and fishing boats as they passed the long docks across the street, and each day I dozed in the stupefying heat, as contented as I have ever been.

This year I chose Panorama because Ben and I had decided to take the dogs with us. It is only a three-hour car drive for us now opposed to the eight or nine hours it used to take from Ohio. Surely we could stand the dogs in the car with us for that long, we thought. It is hard to find "pet-friendly" (as they are called) lodgings on Chincoteague, however, and it did not help that I had waited until the week before we wanted to arrive to make reservations. How lucky that Panorama was the place I found! It was just beautiful. It was perfect for us, really, and for the dogs, too, although Lucie obviously didn't enjoy it as much as Rufus did.

I don't really have the words to describe how beautiful and tranquil the salt marsh, and past that the channel, were just outside our back door. The only sounds we heard were the calls of the many shore birds we watched from our screened-in porch. Occasionally boats sped by out in the channel, and one morning as I stood with the dogs in the tiny yard, a boat glided right past us, its skipper and I silently saluting each other in the early morning light. Each night a beautiful golden moon rose alongside the lighthouse as it blinked its distinctive pattern. (Did you know lighthouses have distinctive patterns? I learned that last year when we climbed to the top of the Assateague light.)

When the kids were little we went to Chincoteague for the beach. If we didn't spend every morning getting sunburned on the beach, my vacation was not a success. I still love the beach - I always will - but it's not as much fun without a child clinging to each hand in the shallow surf or learning to make drizzled sand castles next to their dad on the wide, empty beach. We have found new pleasures, however, and who's to say they are not just as satisfying? One afternoon last weekend as Ben and Lucie napped on the couch, I sat out on the back steps with Rufus at my feet, and just soaked up the peace and quiet. It was my favorite moment of the entire trip, unlike any other, and perfect for that reason alone. We love to go to Chincoteague to see all the old familiar sights, but it is the possibility of the new things we will experience that keep us going back there.

what more can I do?

We have always fed our dogs twice a day. Here is how I feed Rufus his breakfast every morning: Pour one half cup of dry dog food into his dish. Put the dish on the floor. Get out of his way. Oh, that it were that simple with Lucie.

I used to prepare Lucie's food right after I fed Rufus, which is to say before I ate my own breakfast. That meant that I was waiting and waiting and waiting for her to eat so that I could eat. Not a good scenario. The last couple of mornings I have eaten a leisurely breakfast while puzzling over my Sudoku, then gotten online for a bit before tackling the preparation of Lucie's food.

Lucie requires a 50/50 mix of her special dry dog food (for aging dogs) and her special canned food (for dogs with kidney problems). A squirt of salmon oil and a bit of water are added to this combination before it is microwaved for 15 seconds. If she deigns to eat her food, I then give her 0.25 ml of Benazepril by dropper. In addition, every other day she takes one Glycoflex© tablet and a quarter of a baby aspirin (chopped into pieces by guess who). She is also currently taking an antibiotic that she takes at the end of every month. She must take it twice a day with food for one week. And don't even get me started on the additional stuff she takes at the beginning of every month. Have you noticed that taking her meds is predicated on eating her food? So when she refuses to eat, like this morning - even after I added some spaghetti sauce which she usually loves, before microwaving - I really don't know what to do next.

Today I will cook some rice and add cut-up chicken to it in hopes that will tempt her into eating a bit. I don't know what else to do. If she doesn't eat she will surely die. Suggestions greatly appreciated.

I do my best thinking when I'm taking a walk

As I was taking the dogs for a walk this morning, I was thinking about how amazing it is that Lucie has turned into such a good little walker. For so many years she would pull so hard against the leash that she was walking upright on her two hind legs for most of the walk. We had to buy her a harness as she would just choke herself and retch repeatedly. We could not curb that behavior. She was such a terrible walker that not only did we stop walking her but Bobo as well, and that was wrong, because that boy sure did love his walks.

We used to walk Rufus by himself when we lived in Kent, and I told myself that Lucie didn't care as we left her standing by the door every day. When we made the big move out here, Julie and Andrew took the dogs in for several days to facilitate that move. Julie took Rufus and Lucie out multiple times a day and walked them around the apartment building. Lucie likes to walk now, she reported to me, and she is good at it. Better than Rufus, really. So I have taken to walking them both, and it's true, in her dotage, Lucie trots right along, stopping to sniff and mark many places, which Rufus eschews for the all-out pulling me along as I tell him repeatedly to stop. I am sure we entertain the neighbors as we make our rounds.

Lucie snores loudly behind my chair as I type this, and I know I will have to pick her up and carry her to another room when I am on to my next task. She doesn't see or hear well, but she still "swims" at Ben every day when he gets home from work, and she will endlessly flip Hezbollah (her little stuffed duck) off the chair in Ben's room as he tries to change his clothes. When we are out and about, Lucie is routinely mistaken for a puppy, and I guess that is what she will always be to us, as well. A little, brown, curly-haired puppy. I hope she stays that way for a long, long time. And I'll keep walking her just as long as she wants to do it.

it's just another day

Ever since I haven't had to get up early and go to a job I hate, mornings have become my favorite part of the day. I have settled into a summer routine I really like, and I will enjoy it while I can, as I know it is only temporary.

I feed the dogs first thing, of course, and that is not as easy as it sounds, believe me. Oh, Rufus is easy enough. I pour a half cup of dry dog food into his bowl, and he's munching away before I even start to prepare Lucie's breakfast. Lucie requires a different type of dry dog food, but only a quarter cup. To that I add a quarter cup of canned Hill's Prescription Diet k/d©. I break this up into small pieces, add water to it, microwave it for 15 seconds, then stir. It is now ready to be given to Lucie, and she is ready to eat it. At least she seems to really like this concoction, and generally eats it all. Rufus has long since finished his breakfast and been given a treat by this time, and he watches and waits for Lucie to finish eating.

You might think at that point I would be finished with the dogs' petit dejeuner, but you would be wrong. Next Lucie receives a half squirt of salmon oil on a teaspoon. She has been refusing this lately, but when she does eat it, she pushes about half of the stinky, sticky oil off the spoon and onto my outstretched palm. Yum. On odd-numbered days (the 1st, the 3rd, etc.) Lucie gets a Glycoflex tablet and 1/4 of a baby aspirin. (Rufus gets a little treat, as well, so he doesn't feel left out.) The last week of every month, Lucie takes antibiotics twice a day, which I administer with a bit of peanut butter - Rufus gets to lick the spoon. And, finally, yesterday being the first of the month, was really a triple-word-score day as the dogs also had to have their flea and tick medication. I know you're probably thinking I am exhausted by that time and ready to go back to bed, but, actually, my coffee, which I somehow managed to start is ready, and it is finally my turn to eat breakfast.

Although my morning cup of coffee is crucial (I get blinding headaches without it) I am generally not much of a breakfast eater. This is not because I don't like breakfast, really, but because I am too lazy (and befuddled) to make anything elaborate first thing in the morning. I will usually have some type of granola bar, but lately I have re-discovered an old favorite - cheese and peanut butter crackers. I used to always have a pack of these for my "deskfast" in the mornings when I worked at the university, but I had left them behind with everything else. I had some at Julie's a month or so ago, and I am hooked on them, for the time being, anyway.

I read the Baltimore Sun as I eat my breakfast. Although it is not the Plain Dealer, which I have read all my life, I think it is important to read a local newspaper, and I like it fine for what it is. And the important thing is that after I finish reading the paper, I can work the daily Sudoku. It was a happy day when I first started getting the Sun and realized they carry a Sudoku every day but Sunday on the comics page. I try not to let the tone of my day be set by how well I do on this early morning mental exercise. You see, the thing is that early in the week - Monday, Tuesday, even Wednesday - the puzzles are easy and I can almost always solve them unless I am not paying attention and put an "8" in the same box with an "8", for example. By Friday, however, it is not so easy, and I have learned to walk away from the breakfast table without crumpling and throwing the offensive puzzle across the room. Not a good way to start the day - you see what I mean?

After a quick check of the interwebs, I don my gardening togs and head outside. Most mornings I have to water everything we have planted this year as we get almost no rain here. The worst part is watering the south (or Iris's side, as we like to call it) of the house, so I do that first. It has gotten sun all day long the day before, of course, and it is dry, dry, dry. I have to haul five, full, heavy watering cans of water from the spigot at the front of the house before I am satisfied that everything will survive for another day. Then it is on to the north side of the house, where I fill the bowl in our Japanese garden with water, and water the miniature shrubs when they need it. I water the two struggling containers (even though I am mad at them) and on to my favorites, the climbing roses. The plants were so tiny when we got them in the mail, and I am so surprised and pleased by their progress. Maybe next year they will even bloom... I hope they are like the roses we had climbing next to the back door of our house on Denison. Those roses were so beautiful and so fragrant that the little back porch just filled with that smell when they were blooming. Then, yes, I water all the things in the back yard, pausing frequently to ascertain where Rufus is, and sending him in the house when he inevitably starts munching on the mulch.

Today, though, I didn't have to water all the things because we had a wonderful, soaking thunderstorm last night that did it for me. So I was able to wander around the back yard with my yellow bucket and my gardening tools, picking and pruning, at will. I also have to stop and yell at the dogs to get out of the tomatoes, a recent development. They are looking for grape tomatoes that have fallen off the vines, and I know that they eat them. You don't want to know how I know that. Lucie doesn't hear me when I yell, of course, so I have to walk over to her and scoot her away, which always startles her and makes me feel bad. Pretty soon I get tired of yelling at them and send them in the house, which I think they appreciate.

The time always comes when I am drenched in sweat (sorry, but gardening is not pretty) and ready to go in, as well. I bring in whatever I have picked for the day and set it in the kitchen sink for a good wash. Then I go off for a good wash myself. I don't think I have gotten as dirty in many years as I get here on a regular basis. But, you know, I like it. It feels good and honest to me. And I know that although this hot, humid, growing season will last longer here than it does in Ohio, it will not last forever, and I intend to enjoy every morning of it.

checking one more task off my list

The doggies are going to the groomer's today, and, boy, do they need it. They have needed to go for a while, actually, but Lucie got a bad ear infection, and I have been treating her ears with yucky medicine for more than a week. The medicine looks like Elmer's glue, but it is slimy instead of sticky. Twice a day, I have to squirt the medicine in each of her ears, then massage the ear, making sure it makes the correct squishy sound as I do so. I find that if I put Lucie up on the kitchen counter, she doesn't have any traction and can't get away from me.

Her ears look so slimy and awful that I tried giving her a little spot bath last week, but the dog shampoo that I have didn't even touch the greasy mess. I am pretty sure that whatever the groomer uses will take care of it, though.

I don't know who hates the trip to the groomer's more - me or the doggies. When we get there, Rufus hides behind my legs, and Lucie, whom I am carrying, tries to crawl up my front and sit on my shoulder. I have to be careful to wear a top that covers my neck and throat so that she can't claw me (she has drawn blood in the past) and it has to be a fabric that she can't snag. Hoodies work well.

I hate leaving the dogs there. They are so pathetic and resigned - well, Lucie tends more towards frantic, I guess. But I am always so happy to receive the phone call that they are finished and I can pick them up. When I get there, they come prancing out of the back room, looking just great. The are usually wearing seasonal bandanas, which they don't like, and I don't either, actually. What I love is when Lucie has a little bow on either side of her head. She just couldn't be cuter. I bundle them into the car, and get them back home as quickly as I can. They want big drinks of water and an immediate trip out back when they get here.

Going to the groomer's is an exhausting experience for Lucie and Rufus, and, safely home, they really just want to snuggle up next to me on the couch and sleep for a few hours. Which, I must say, dovetails nicely with my plans.

crate training - for all of us

Lucie and Rufus hate to ride in the car. I hate it, too. Lucie sits on my lap and shakes as I drive, and Rufus paces back and forth in the back seat and cries. The entire time. Needless to say, we don't travel in the car together very often. Basically, I take them to the groomer's or to the vet - which may be the reason they hate it so much.

However, I see a very long car trip in their future, so things will have to change. To that end, I bought them a soft-sided crate, large enough for both of them. We have been trying to acclimate them to the crate gradually. I set it up in the kitchen, with a couple of their soft blankets inside it. And just left it there, for a couple of days. They were curious, but not especially interested in getting inside. Next, I would entice them one at a time inside the crate with a small treat. They each had to sit and lay down inside the crate, then I would pat the floor in front of the crate, and invite them to come out.

Last week, we removed their big pillow from the corner of the kitchen, and placed the crate there instead. We have been delighted to see each of them climb into the crate and curl up there on several occasions. Earlier this week, Julie and I loaded the crate into the back seat of my car, then brought Lucie and Rufus out to the car and zipped them into the crate. Off we went for a very brief ride around the block. I don't think we were even in the car for five minutes. They did really pretty okay. No major freak outs - by any of us. We repeated the ride later in the day. Still okay. Yesterday, I took them out by myself and we drove to a nearby farm stand to buy some fresh corn. I left them in the car as I bought corn, and they seemed fine with that. We were home within twenty minutes of leaving, but still, a good run.

Our next big test is coming sooner than I would have liked. Today, I will have to hurry home from work and pack the doggies into the car so that some prospective buyers can look at the house. I have mixed feelings about that, but this is the path we have chosen, and off we must go. We are supposed to be out of the house for an hour, so I really don't know what we will do during that time. Drive past the house until the driveway is empty, no doubt. I understand that the longer the buyers are here, the better, but Lucie and Rufus and I hope it won't be too long. We're all creatures of habit.

snowbound

According to the National Weather Service, although "blizzard-like" conditions existed over the past two days, we did not actually have a blizzard here in Northeast Ohio. Well, the NWS and I will have to agree to disagree on this one. There was a blizzard for sure in my neighborhood, and I know because I haven't been able to leave here in three days.

It started to snow Friday morning about 10:00 a.m. It stopped snowing some time last night. Yes, it snowed continuously for more than 30 hours. Sometimes the snow floated to the ground in big, fluffy flakes. Sometimes it fell in little pellets that sounded like rain when they hit the ground. Sometimes it snowed sideways as the wind whipped the snow into drifts all along the back fence. The point I am trying to make is that it did not stop snowing.

Ben and I went out four times yesterday to shovel the driveway. We finally broke through to the street in the late afternoon. I'm not sure why it seemed so important to do that - we can't really go anywhere. I cleared the paths I had shovelled through the deep snow in the back yard a half dozen times so that the dogs could go out. The snow is taller than they are. Lucie is not quite the springbok she was in her younger days, but she did race around the paths a bit before she ran up on the back porch to be let back in the house. Rufus, on the other hand, is the perfect age for something like this, and he romped through the snow with abandon.

We generally do our grocery shopping on Sunday morning (while the righteous are in church) but I am not sure we can make it there and back without getting stuck. I'll keep you posted.

at summer's end

It looks like yesterday may have been our last day of temperatures in the upper 80s. Our protracted summer is finally drawing to a close in the second week of October. I generally don't care for late summer - too hot, too humid, too many bugs - but this year I have enjoyed it. It has been strange, though, out walking Rufus in shorts and a sleeveless top while brown leaves fall all around us.

I know in the past (before we lived in a house with central air) I would have absolutely hated this weather. I always felt that once October had arrived, I could expect to sleep comfortably at night. For me, that means sleeping temperatures in the 60s and no humidity. I now have that luxury year-round, so it just doesn't matter as much to me what it's like outside.

The dogs have been enjoying the weather, and I like the fact that it is easy to get them to go outside and stay there for more than a minute. I love it when Lucie finally lets down her defenses, and stretches out on her side in the sunlit grass. She lies there like rumpled laundry, and looks like she doesn't have a bone in her body. Rufus, being a black dog, wisely rests in the shade.

I think, for the most part, the reason I am enjoying the seasons so much this year is because I am actually experiencing them instead of sitting in a windowless cubicle all day, every day. I relish this unexpected opportunity to heal and to think and to observe.

Lucie-inspired haiku

I used to write haiku about Bobo, and when Ben asked me why I never wrote any about Lucie, I told him she has to inspire me. So she did. Here are some haiku I wrote about her. (Yeah, she's been barking a lot lately.) The last one is my favorite, I think. I'm not sure...

the little dog starts
then the bigger one joins in
what an awful noise!

Sunday newspapers
quiet afternoon reading
shit! Lucie went off

Lucie! shut up now!
can't you see I don’t need that
adrenaline spike

didn’t you know that
when Lucie swims through the air
she just wants closer

it is so quiet
when the little brown dog sleeps
then she growls softly

Lucie warned me twice
before she bit my face off
she's not a pillow

Oh, and here is my favorite one that I wrote about Bobo. A copy of it is in the urn with his ashes.

a hot summer day
the white dog sleeps in the sun
what does he dream of?