Late Fragment.

Cuteness so vast I cannot come up with an appropriate song title.

Let Me Get What I Want This Time.

I came home from work tonight and my Cindy-dog met me at the door.  I didn't notice it immediately, but it didn't take long...  she's carrying her back leg, the one that she broke way back in 2001. 

She won't put any weight on it, and while she isn't crying or whining, she definitely pulls it away when I press on the lowermost joint, what I suppose you'd call her ankle.

I immediately think "osteo" because I've been through this once before. 

I'm hoping it's arthritis, or a stiff something-or-other from sleeping on it wrong.  I'll give it a day, see how she is tomorrow.

But I am scared.  Because apparently, I love this dog more than I've been willing to admit.

And She Was.

I can't believe it was more than six years ago that you came tearing into my life, making everyone in the house bleed and eating everything you could.  I can't believe that you've grown into this silly, weird, freaky dog from the scared, hurting puppy that you were.

I didn't think I could love you, back then.  I didn't think you were the least bit lovable.  But I also knew your best shot was with me.  I figured if I couldn't make you a pet, no one could.

But I do love you now.  I love your messy face and that you hide in my closet. I love that you've mostly learned to control yourself, and that you no longer feel the need to assert your alpha-ness all the time.

But mostly I love that you love me, that I make you so happy you quiver, and that watching you run at me at the dog park with your tongue flapping in the wind is all the proof I need that we did the right thing that summer.

Happy birthday, Cindy Lou Who.  Don't leave me anytime soon, okay?

A Dog Is A Dog.

I'm not sure I believe in the theory of soul mates.  I am not sure there is one ONE for everyone.  I remember Kenny, back in the LA days, telling me he wasn't sure I was THE ONE, and thinking that there probably wasn't just one ONE.  Anyway...

I do believe, however, that there are dogs who just belong to certain people (although I'll buy the argument that certain people just belong to certain dogs).  Pixie was my dog.  There was something about her that just made her mine, and something that made me hers too.  Inspector has his giant, big-headed fur-ball.  My friend Andy had her Murphy.  Sometimes it happens.  Canine alchemy I suppose.

Every now and then, there's a dog... and it's not yours.  But it is.  Something about it sings to your heart.  It's like you know something about that dog that no one else does.  Sometimes, when I lie on the floor with Inspector's less giant, less big-headed fur ball, I think she is telling me her secrets.  I feel connected to her.  I think she trusts me in a unique way. 

But once there was this dog, this gorgeous white spotted thing, that decided he loved me, and acted like a love-struck teenager whenever I was around.  This dog, this Shadow, I was his in a way no other human person ever was.  I loved this spooky dog, because he, for whatever reason, laid his heart at my feet and chose me.

I learned that Shadow died suddenly this weekend, that he got up from his bed and fell down, that he died at home in the arms of the frantic woman who loved him more regularly than I did. 

Rest in peace, sweet Shadow.  I'll see you again.  I'll hold you again.  Just you wait...