What the Wind Blew In

snow, dogs, golden retrieverWe’ve been honoring the anniversary of our dog’s passing. Four years ago, Henry let us know it was time for him to go. My guy and I carried him into our vet’s office, which looked more like a home than a business.

In one of the small rooms we placed our beloved Golden on the soft rug, sitting with Henry as we petted him into pure peace. At his last breath, the vet cried softly with us, and I confess, I continued to pet him for another 30 minutes. Continue reading

Reading the Signs (from Pizzas to Papas to Puppy Dog Tales)

confusing road signsA few days ago my daughter was driving her daughter (my pretty, precocious, learning-to-read 6-year-old granddaughter, that is) to ballet class, but the little girl suddenly shouted “STOP!” to her mom, pointing a finger up as if to the heavens.

My daughter put on the brakes, frantically asking, “What’s the matter?”

“We have to go to PaPa’s house,” S insisted in her 1st grade know-it-all tone.Papa Ginos, pizza Continue reading

He’s Just a Dog

dog, golden retriever, autumnDo your teeth grit as hard as mine when people use that expression? What do they mean?

He’s just a dog, so his ‘feelings’ don’t matter, because he has none…?

He’s just a dog, so it’s fine to let him sit outside in the rain (or snow or hot sun) all day…?

He’s just a dog, so leave him at home for hours and don’t worry about him…?

I’ll lighten up for the rest of the post, but I needed to get your first visceral reaction. How do we treat our animals? Do they have “feelings” or concerns? Do they get hot and cold, bouts of hurt and spurts of joy? Continue reading

Early Morning Spirits

walking, San Francisco, San Francisco BayI’m walking the same paths that I did when Henry sniffed along with me. Days after he died, when I began walking alone, I realized how much of a fixture we had become those early morning walks. Half a dozen other early ramblers inquired, “where’s Henry?” or “where’s that bright-eyed, busy-tailed dog of yours?”

 

Now it’s almost five months later, and I still walk our same route. This morning, one of Henry’s biggest fans stops me on the path, the San Francisco Bay by our side, a tiny otter face peeking out in the foggy mist. Continue reading