I always say that the hounds make me laugh every day. This is true.
And sometimes they make my heart melt.
And sometimes they test the last depths of my patience. And sometimes they teach me things about life
that I should know but have forgotten.
Or perhaps I have become too skeptical and jaded. Today they reminded me of something pretty
Grab your opportunities where you find them...
With the hounds, we have an established routine. They get breakfast between 7:00-7:30a and
then a potty break. They get a break at
12:30p and a treat. They get dinner between
5:30-6:00p with another potty break.
They get a last potty break and treat before bedtime between 11:00-11:30p. This has been in place pretty much since I
was lucky enough to get a job that allowed me to work from home.
The kids know very well what the schedule is and they have
unerring internal clocks. At 5:31p I
have four eyes boring holes into me reproaching me for being late to fix them
dinner. At 7:01a I have one or two wet
noses jammed into my face and a chorus of whines to pull me into
Since we work at home, if I want a snack or a drink, I get up from my desk, walk down the hall to the kitchen and get something from the pantry or the fridge. Sometimes I head down the hall to use the bathroom. It never fails
that when I get up from my desk to do anything, bathroom, break, grab a book
off the shelf across the room, stretch my legs, anything at all, one or both hounds spring up from their
beds. I inevitably lead a parade down
the hall to whatever destination it is I have gotten up for. This happens every time.
Remember to be super-cute and practice your puppy dog eyes
Blue and Bettina are hoping that I may give in to their
charms and give them an unscheduled treat.
And honestly, sometimes I do.
Much of the time I don’t. But
that doesn’t stop them from jumping up and following me every time my behind
leaves the chair. This morning it occurred
to me as I turned and tripped over Bettina who had been right on my heels in
the kitchen, hope springs eternal for my crazy dogs. Disappointment may rain from the skies over
their little heads when I don’t give them an extra treat. But they get up again the next time and
follow me hopefully.
What’s more, sometimes their hope is rewarded with something
special and unexpected. Sometimes I give
them a marrow bone. Or a rawhide to
chew. Sometimes it's just a humdrum treat. It doesn’t really matter what. Sometimes their hope and patience and
optimism pays off. And it happens
enough times to keep that hope alive.
I certainly didn’t expect to be taught a life lesson this
morning while tripping over my dog. But
they definitely seem to have it right.
Rejection isn’t personal, or final.
Keep trying to get what you want because sometimes you do. Even when you don’t get what you want, keep
trying because it might be next time that you do get it. Or maybe the time after that. And always, always try to be in the right
place at the right time. You can’t take
advantage of an opportunity if you are still lying on your bed. Oh yeah, and it doesn’t hurt to be super cute
and make use of puppy dog eyes.
Grammy has agreed to step in as guest blogger again. This particular post has been so very hard to read, very hard to edit and hard for me to release to the world. But, on this third anniversary of Girly Girl's cancer diagnosis, in her memory and honor, I share this with you.
Always Grammy's Girl
It was approaching sunset on a beautiful October
evening. The sky was streaked with red
and the sun was warm. Trees were
changing and wore brilliant dresses of orange and red. This was to be Girly Girl's last night we would see
her until we passed over the bridge ourselves.
The Vet was there with her assistant and everything was held up until
Charlie and I arrived. As sick as GG was
she got up and ran to the gate to greet us.
She had been bleeding from the nose and there was no hope left for recovery. But the steel magnolia had not given up yet.
Someone had to help her over the bridge and her mother, my daughter, was the
only one she could depend on. The fight
had lasted a year, loss of a leg, numerous chemo sessions, numerous radiology
sessions, numerous blood tests, numerous x-rays, but the outcome was apparently
inevitable. We were saying our final
farewell to our beloved GG, the little girl that could.
Veronica sat on the ground in GG’s favorite sunning spot and
had GG lay down in her lap. The Vet gave
her the first shot to relax her and then the killing shot, except it
didn’t. This 58 pound dog’s heart would
not stop. Her mother was murmuring in
her ear to go, to let it all go, that it was ok, that she would see her
again. But her heart beat on. The Vet shook her head and gave her another
shot. Girly Girl relaxed and taking a deep
breath, exhaled as her mother rocked her in her arms.
Charlie offered to pick her up but Veronica, tears streaming
down her face, said ‘No, this is my job, this is my privilege.” She went inside and got warm wet cloths and
bathed her there in the setting sun and then wrapping her in a white sheet
carried her inside to her bed and laid her down. We sat around, amazed that our own hearts
were still beating, there was no way they could survive this but somehow they
As an adult I’ve lost many things, my mother, my father, my
beloved grandmother but never did I feel pain like this. I had been in the presence of the last
perfect heartbeat of a perfect soul.