Photo, “Keeping Time,” by Susan Licht, https://www.instagram.com/susanlicht/
Yes, I still have my dog’s puppy teeth. I’ve never admitted this to anyone until two weeks ago, when our son’s dog, Jax, got hit by a car.
Jax is an 80-pound, 4-year-old silver lab, although more dark gray than silvery. He boasted large paws and a strong body even as an 8-week-old, picked up at a CA breeder’s ranch in the middle of a wildfire. In some ways, Sonny claims, Jax is a “rescue” dog.
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He was a teenager. That’s the first bit of information I should share with you before you judge me.
From the age of 13 to 15, he changed from a huggable, lovable son who bought me flowers to a changing-voiced male who thought that most of what I said was either simple, silly, or just plain stupid.
I understood. After all, I wasn’t ancient enough to not remember how I felt as a teen. Continue reading
When my mom was in her mid-80s, she asked that we visit a tattoo parlor together.
“Let’s get mother/daughter tattoos, maybe with a heart design,” she suggested. Continue reading
Bravery comes in all sizes and shapes. And ages.
When my CA grandson (12) flew out on his own to visit my guy and me, he received his second vaccine shot the day before. We were all a bit worried about him flying with side effects, but when we picked him up at the airport (see Oh, you’re one of THOSE | roughwighting ) he just shrugged and said “I slept for the entire 6 ½ hour flight.”
Easy peasy. Or so I thought. 
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