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.
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.
While driving to the airport two weeks ago, I had a horrible thought.
What name did my son use to authorize me to pick up my 12-year-old CA grandson from the Boston airport?
“Sky” had never flown on his own. But he couldn’t wait for the taste of independence (and full attention from doting grandparents) by flying across country to visit us for a week.
Yesterday my guy received five crank calls that made no sense to him.
The phone calls originated from a CA town where we’ve never lived. The first two calls were hang-ups, then three voice mails, delivered in a shaky female voice: “I have your card. Please call me back.”
“My card? What card?” he worried. He checked his wallet; all of his credit cards were in place. Continue reading
As I sit in the car in utter fear and mortification, counting, counting, counting, I wonder: what has led me to this humiliating, horrible experience?
Is it because of some deep-seated hatred for my brother?
No. I shake my head vehemently as I whisper 77, 78, 79… I love my brother. Continue reading