I woke up in the middle of the night as sick as a dog. Wait. My dog never got this sick. Henry, my Golden, had the constitution of an ox and the compassion of a Mystic, so he followed me from the bedroom as I raced to the bathroom.
I don’t remember what happened next, except when I awakened I had a huge headache, an even bigger lump on my head, and someone breathing into my nose. Continue reading
For years I’ve wondered why the best part of the year is called the “Dog Days of Summer.” Most dogs I know (and I’m close to many) aren’t enamored with summer. Too hot for their heavy fur.
My granddog Charlie loves being outside, but on a “dog day of summer,” he buries himself in the dirt (usually in my daughter’s well-loved rose garden) and hangs out there until he’s discovered and chastised. Continue reading
The older I get, the more days I want to my week.
Eight days a week would be a great start. I think I’ll call my extra day – WONDER DAY.
One day just to wonder. Continue reading
We’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
A 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.
Continue reading
