Non-Speaking Souls

[image from google]

Dogs

understand everything

so much

more than

many humans

give them credit for.

They just lack speech,

so cannot

tell us.

I know they think,

remember, 

feel joy,

feel pain,

feel loss,

feel sad,

feel empathy

for their person.

I see it

in their eyes:

non-speaking souls,

with hearts

full of

unspoken love,

waiting for

humans

to appreciate

their gift

of wordless

devotion.

Dogs of an Eternal Winter

[image by Maxim Marmur at ft.com]

26,000 homeless dogs

roam the streets

of Moscow.

26,000 fur bundles

of love-

on-paws,

live hungry,

cold,

without shelter

in the freezing air.

Some are so smart

they know how

to ride the subway,

where the seats

are softer

than the frozen

concrete

streets

of the inner city,

and where for an hour

they share

some warmth

with the

human passengers.

Sometimes

they roam

together,

seeking

food and fellowship.

Hunger

is their

most constant

companion.

The city

planned

to send them

all to a gulag camp

outside the city.

Citizens protested,

knowing

they all would die,

and the news reports

ceased.

But keep an eye out

for sudden evacuations

by night.

No government bureau

is funded

to help

these most helpless

of

creatures.

A handful

of private citizens

do what they can.

The hungry dogs

of

an eternal winter

walk

the streets

of Moscow

with

questions

in their eyes,
and,

when they dream,
they dream

of spring.

Winter Wind

[My sister Lori with Noella, (who was a Christmas puppy 11 years ago),
Lukey and Jasmine, who are brother and sister, now five years old.]

The winter wind
puffs its cheeks
and blows
cold blasts
across the valley;
leaves and clouds
go skittering in its path.
The sky darkens;
chilly dogs come in
at last
and,
brightly sparkling
through the darkening gloom,
the red and blue lights
of Christmas Past
and Present
shine their cheer
into my
each and every room.

My sister puts
a tiny tree
within the corner.
Tomorrow
I'll wrap
some gifts
to go below.
All it takes
are lights,
a tree,
to make a Christmas.
The only thing
still on its way
is snow.

The dogs are snoozing
by the makeshift fire.
The kids will
all be here
this year
with me.
Pup perks his ears
when I say
"the kids
are coming!"
-the last Christmas
my boy will ever see.
Fourteen Christmases
to reach
the very last one,
so hard to finally
set my wolf-pup free.

I take the sadness
with the joy,
for that's the program;
the two sides of the coin
together come.
Our hearts wax
fuller than the moon
with tears and laughter.
The years fly fast;
Tomorrow comes
too soon.

                                                            

Christmas Dogs

Pup, in his more lordly days

(he prefers the hat to antlers!)

Is that all I got?

"I feel pretty!"

Winter Magic

My youngest, Stephanie, lives in a beautiful location called Brentwood Bay, on the outskirts of Victoria, on the southernmost tip of Vancouver Island. She is a short walk from the ocean

and there are wonderful trails between her house and the water,

through a provincial park.

All of these photos were taken by Stephanie.

I am so anticipating my next visit, so I can wander these trails

and commune with the trees. In the New Year,

that visit is on my To Do list.

Gloriously beautiful.

One just wants to walk and walk, and not turn back.

This is the Bay, where the mariners keep their boats,

and wait for more suitable weather.

Some ice on the water, unusual for our usually mild climate.

This is Little Man Chase, Steph's beloved boy.

And here is Sanchez, who is also dearly loved. If my daughter lived on acreage,

she would be a dog rescuer and likely would have fifty dogs:)

In the city, she has to stop at two.

This is the beautiful view from her living room window. Wow.

Stephanie and Gord,

the man who is making her so happy,

which does her mother's heart good:)
(Not sure how they took this photo.)

Some updates

image from http://www.watergatesummer.blogspot.com/



Remember Allie from www.watergatesummer.blogspot.com
who befriended the family newly arrived from Iraq? We heard her story, and the family's, 
 during the Blogblast for Peace event. Allie writes that she has helped the family navigate through the intricacies of accessing services. She accompanied the children to their first pediatric exams and their first dental appointments, scary for the little ones. But they were brave and got through it. She made sure the heat got fixed in their apartment. And Allie reports that through her blogging, gifts from NINE states in the US continue to arrive for the family: blankets, coats, clothing, baby gear, art supplies.

She reports  the children seem much happier and are more relaxed, there is a lot more giggling. They do a lot of coloring, and every time Allie arrives with the latest donations (which she packages in big bright green gift bags to make it more festive) they get very excited to see what has arrived.

This one woman, quietly seeing a need and stepping up to the plate, has made this family feel welcomed in their new home.

I post stories and poems about some of the sad things that I come across. But I enjoy it so much more when I come across a story like this. Nothing big or heroic, just a woman who thought perhaps that family needed some help, and  friendship, and went over to offer it. Lovely. I so love big-hearted people! Read more about this family, and about Allie at Watergate Summer (link above). You'll be impressed. She shows how much one person CAN do to make a difference.

Yesterday my sister and I made a quick trip to Nanaimo, an hour from here. She dropped me at the mall while she went to an appointment and I had a happy time picking up a few Christmas gifts. We only have a Walmart here, no mall, so shopping is limited which usually doesn't matter. I don't shop much. But I wanted a few specific items, so yesterday was my chance. The gift that made me the happiest was buying a lovely light soft fleecy deep purple blanket for the elderly lady I clean for every Tuesday. She doesn't have a blanket, she uses the cotton cover the ambulance personnel use to cover patients in the ambulance. Purple is her favorite color (and mine.) I can't wait to see her face when I give it to her.

But the update on this little couple is a bit scary. When Faiza came home yesterday, she found Bill lying on the floor. He couldn't get up and they called the ambulance. Bill is in hospital now, on oxygen, on IV's. He wants to be home but he is in the right place. The down side is that Faiza, who should be lying down recuperating from back surgery, is toiling back and forth to the hospital to be at his side. She is exhausted, she is over-doing. But she is a woman whose own needs have always come last after everybody else's. I worry about her. Her back has not had a chance to heal, and her legs are giving her much trouble and she is over doing because she has no choice.  I know very well what that is like because I have done it myself my whole life too.

I pray he lives through Christmas. This couple is so close and loving, I can't imagine her when the dreaded day does come that he is no longer with her. She will be lost. Hopefully, he will perk up. But we have been watching his decline in recent weeks and it isn't looking good. Yet, still, her entire conversation is sprinkled liberally with "I love you's", and "habibti's" and "sweethearts" and "thank you's". Such a sweet little woman.

Pumpkins! Yesterday when Lori and I went to Nanaimo there they all were lining the road in the kazillions. Lined up atop cliffs, alongside the forest, sitting on rock ledges and one was stuck atop a stake right beside the road, like something out of the killing fields. All grinning. They looked adorable and I was chagrined I had not driven out that way when I did my pumpkin shoot. I KNEW they were there but the drive is an onerous one and I was tired. However, just know you received highly inferior pumpkins to what could have been on that post!

My old Mr Dog is still here, still hobbling. When he walks beside me, it isn't like walking a dog. He pads stealthily beside me like the bad old wolf that he is. He is failing, I am amazed he is still here and as he walks beside me I am thinking about the day not far off when he  no longer will be. It never gets any easier to think about.

Ms. Jasmine, however, is rockin' and rollin'. From day two she was putting her full weight on her rear leg, which blew our doors off. At her two week checkup, when she got her stitches out, the vet could not believe how well she was doing and in fact told me to not let her over-do it, to rein her in a little. She is bored but being very good and is healing so well. She has to be walked on leash for bathroom duties, as she can't be free for months yet. So every time I walk her out to pee, Pup gets very vocal and indignant as in his mind she is getting a ton of walkies and he is getting one a day. No fair! I love that he still has the fire to care.

The vet did me a huge kindness by waiving her surgical fee, thus lifting a ton of stress off my shoulders. I took them  a card with Jasmine's big smiling face on it, and a flat of doughnuts. The most expensive doughnut the vet ever ate. "Thanks for the surgery, here , have a doughnut!" It still cost a lot, but a thousand as opposed to $1700 is a considerable difference. People have kind hearts. And I think the fact that when she told me Jas needed surgery and I literally almost passed out, (they had to revive me with water and cold compresses), that actually helped me out a little. They didn't want me to go into cardiac arrest paying the bill, hee hee. Kind people with big hearts everywhere.

My sister and I drove around looking at properties yesterday on the outskirts of Nanaimo. Found some lovely rural areas that were also near the ocean (be still, my heart!), saw little farms that would be so lovely to live in with all our animals and the horse. "Farmhouse, mobile and five acres," she read on one sign we passed. "Sold!" I leaned forward and stared up at the heavens: "STOP IT!" Like God was showing us all the lovelies we couldn't afford and couldn't have.

"So now we can go home and stick our heads in the oven," she said.

"And just our luck we have electric stoves, not gas," I retorted. "A lot more painful!"

Cackles.

But when we did get home, and saw the sun lighting the poplars and a faint mist rising from the fields, there were our two cosy homes and all of our eager critters just waiting for us. We are pretty lucky, after all.

HARMONY

Beautiful morning:

birdsong

clouds like

herds of white horses

grazing the sky

a deer

taking startled flight

across the meadow

sleepy dogs

snoozing

on the porch-step

of morning

a horse's

deep brown-eyed calm

to greet me,

whuffing for her

breakfast oats

teapot steaming

and nothing to do

this long glorious day

but be with

the animals

They know how

to live in balance,

in the Now;

our soul's

replenishment

is to let them

show us

how.

THEY LEFT PAWPRINTS ON OUR HEARTS....

........and we are forever changed.

[I started this blog some time ago. I had decided to do a post about all the dogs we have loved and said goodbye to in our family, and how each one changed us.

But the list of goodbyes was so long, I started feeling sad, and I put this post into draft and left it alone. Tonight Stephanie and I were chatting, and I told her this. She said, "I know the partings are sad and I am teary about it right now, but what we have to remember is the funny things, the happy memories, the love they brought into our lives, and then it isnt so sad at all."

So I decided to dust off this draft and maybe even wing it into the blogosphere. Because, even though it is sad, it is a testament to our loving them -and they us - and the fact that we have been forever changed by having them in our lives.]

Loving dogs involves heartbreak. So when I was showing my daughter, Stephanie, my blog titled "The Dogs In My Heart" (July), and she asked, "What about Snoopy, don't forget Snoopy," I
realized there are a lot more dogs in our hearts than the ones we are presently living with. I decided to do another post about the many dogs we have loved and said goodbye to in our family.

Since Stephanie, myself and my sister are all avid dog lovers - and dog rescuers - the list is long. This blog will not be without tears. But those pawprints.........those dear loopy smiles.....how they changed us!

I am going all the way back. Above is a little black lab called Dinky, who was my buddy from earliest childhood. A more loyal, devoted little fellow you couldnt imagine. Above, we are outside our small farm, Twin Acres, in the Kelowna Mission. But not too long afterwards, the family moved to Vancouver, for better work opportunities for my dad. Dinky came with us. But he did not enjoy living in the city, on a busy street, with all the noise and the confinement. I remember kids would come up and down the lane, pointing toy guns at us and going "Bang, bang" and this made my dog nervous. He would growl and bark, trying to protect me from a perceived threat.

One day my mother told me, Dinky was going to have to go "away", because he might bite someone. A neighbor had complained. I went to school one day. When I came back, he was gone. I noticed my mom watching me carefully, likely watching for signs of grief. By then, with all that had happened in my short life, I was skilled at numbing myself to emotions that were too painful to be borne. I slid Dinky into the closed room where I kept the pain. But I felt guilty for years afterward, that I had never cried for him. (I'll cry for him now.)

I was sixteen before I had another dog. Tippy was a rescue, on her way to the SPCA if I didnt take her. I'm sure my mom didnt need one more creature to worry about and feed, but she said I could have her. I was a lonely teenager, and I remember lying on the floor doing my homework, Tippy lying beside me, my arm around her. One day, when I was walking her, she started running and playing with another dog. They suddenly darted into the road, and both were struck and killed by a passing police car. I was in shock as I watched the car hit, and her body fly in an arc off to the side of the road. The policeman took us to the vet. He came out of the back room and handed me Tippy's leash and collar.

My mom let me stay home from school the next day. I bless her for that; she knew how much it hurt.

Hushpuppy was given to me when I was nineteen and about to get married. He was a smart little Pomeranian, who would stand on his hind legs and dance around in a circle for treats. We didnt teach him that; he just began to do it. We were living by then in Alert Bay, a small island off the east coast of Vancouver Island. Hushpuppy disappeared one day; just gone. Maybe stolen, maybe hunted by a predator. He was in the yard; then he was not. I was right inside the house.

Years later, there was Grady, rescued from the SPCA by my sister. Here she is with my three oldest kids, Lisa, Jon and Jeff. Grady was a hilarious Irish setter that I just adored. Soon after she joined us, we moved to Sechelt, where I was running a small general store on the ocean. Grady cracked people up, all along the beach because she chased - not birds - but the SHADOWS of the birds along the sand, pouncing on them, digging, flabbergasted that she couldnt get her paws around them. Sometimes I would see her with her tail slowly wagging, observing something closely on the floor in the storeroom. Looking closer, I'd see she was watching a bug, and smiling gently. When our cat had kittens, Grady helped her deliver and care for them. Grady was so gentle she would play with our bunnies, hopping around the yard with them like a gigantic, stiff-legged red rabbit. Hilarious dog.

She loved running along the beach, but she always ran away, traveling through the native reserve. We got some phone calls saying if she continued, they were going to shoot her. Right at that time, a man with acreage offered to take her.

At the time I was hugely pregnant, running a general store from six a.m. till midnight, at the same time caring for my three young children, and dealing with an alcoholic partner. I did not want to tie her up. Running free on acreage seemed the best solution for her, heartbreaking as it was for me to let her go.

One more dog put behind that locked door of pain and loss. I saw Grady some months later, with her new owner. I didnt let her see me, so as not to upset her. She was listening to him intently and I could see he had trained her well. She looked happy, and I knew she was all right.

It was quite a while before I was ready for another dog. I was raising four children on my own - enough creatures to feed and take care of. But Stephanie had always wanted a dog. So when she was seven I got her a sheltie - spaniel cross. Steph named her Snoopy; it's not my fault:)

Snoopy was a dear little dog, who fitted right into our lifestyle. She was very smart, and grew very compassionate over the years. When I first moved to Tofino and was trying to secure housing for us, Jeff and Snoopy stayed with my mom temporarily in the city. Jeff was just getting ill then, and he and Snoopy clung to each other. Jeff says she really comforted him during that summer he was so ill.

Once Snoopy joined us in Tofino, she loved being on the beach, having the freedom of a wooden deck to lounge on. After city life, this was dog heaven. However, on New Year's Eve, I was alone in the cabin. Snoop was out on the deck. I heard a scuffle and, looking out, I saw two dogs stuck together and one of them was Snoopy. They both looked up at me, startled, locked together. I closed the door tactfully, hoping they would figure out how to disengage. Not a long time later..............

Snoopy did not like being a mother. She was seven by then and was not amused by the situation. I had to make her feed the babies. She would look at me with an aghast expression, like: "How did this happen??!!" Steph and I loved the puppies though. They were adorable. I'd come home from work, and call, "Puppers! Come on, little puppers!" and the herd of little feet would run after me across the floor while I made them their food.

When it was time for them to go to their new homes, I cried my eyes out. By now, I for sure knew how to cry!

The little one in the middle was my favorite. She was Snoopy all over again and if I had had secure housing, I would have kept her. But we had to move every few months for a while, and it was impossible. I gave her to a friend to be sure she had a good home. But that friend had a young child and couldnt manage training a puppy. She gave her away; the puppy was stolen from the second home. Months later I saw her, on Vargas Island. She looked like she was having a hard life. I know humans have it tough on this planet. But my heart goes out to dogs, such devoted loving creatures, so at the mercy of their "owners". I can be stoic at all that happens to humans, but turn into a puddle when I hear of a fur being who has been mistreated or has passed away. No creature is as devoted, as accepting, or as unconditionally loving.

Snoopy had a few more good years at the beach, but when she was thirteen, she grew ill. Looking back, I think she may have had cancer. She seemed to be having bowel problems, and sometimes seemed to suffer. She got visibly weaker, and her hind end started giving out. I had to carry her up stairs. I didnt want to wait for a crisis situation, since we were two hours from a vet. I had to make a hard decision, to spare her more suffering.

I drove home that day with just her collar and leash, and laid them on the shelf. I had rescued Pup just a few months before this. Pup sniffed them delicately. He knew she was gone.

Steph loved another dog, a Springer spaniel called Quincy, right around this time. He belonged to Steph's then boyfriend. It broke Steph's heart when Quincy died and she says she would like to have another Springer spaniel one day. Quincy had the softest heart and seemed more human than dog. Big brown droopy eyes and slobbery kisses. A sweetheart! I have photos, but this format wont allow me to insert one into the proper place in this blog. Frustrating.

A year or so after Snoopy died, Pup and I flew north to spend a winter in Kitimat with my sister, who lived there then. My illness had hit, I had just sold my trailer, had surgery pending and didnt know where to go. I took a time out with my sister to re-group. Pup was part wolf; he loved the north. He loved the snow so much he never wanted to come inside. I walked up and down the street many nights calling him, trying to get him to come inside. It was freezing out there. His wolfish nature really responded to the climate, and the scent of other wild things on the air.

This is little black Oliver, who was my mother's dog until Mom died, who stayed on with my sister, Lori, and her retriever Fletcher. Lori was visiting me when she spotted Fletcher on the beach, walking in a long line of puppies. Fiona was pleased to find a good home for one of them. Fletcher stayed with me at the beach sometimes, and was a devoted nanny to Snoopy's puppies.

Up north, the three dogs hung out together. They had a habit of going for a walkabout every morning, then returning to hang in the yard for the rest of the day.

One morning three dogs headed out. Only Pup and Fletcher came back. Little Ollie, with his short little legs, did not. Lori and her partner searched the woods at the end of our road, on snowshoes. There was no sign of him. We feel he must have been picked off by a predator. The bigger dogs were fast enough to get away. Ollie would have been in the rear and was more vulnerable. It is horrible to think of such a brutal ending to his little life.

Fletcher and Lori moved back to the island, some months after I returned here. Fletcher died two years later, of a cancerous mass in her abdomen. She was such a good girl, and went on many walks with Pup and I in Pup's younger years.

This is little Hope, my daughter Lisa's once in a lifetime dog. When Lisa got her as a newborn puppy, she named her thus because she said "Every house needs a little Hope." Hope had Attitude. She was feisty. Somewhere I have the cutest picture of her, smiling. Lisa dressed her up, and did her hair in little bows. She was a fee-fee foo-foo dog who loved being fussed with.

Lisa's kids were very careful about not letting her get out the door. But one of their friends didnt close the door quickly enough one day and Hope ran fast, Lisa running behind her, right into the path of a car. We buried her in my back yard. Pup, who, huge as he is, had been her playmate,
lay down alongside her grave and stood guard. He knew. His eyes understood the loss we were all feeling.

My daughter, Stephanie, has been a dog lover and a dog rescuer. Since she has been on her own, she has rescued a handful of wonderful dogs and has given them a second chance, a ton of love, and turned their lives around. If she had the funding she would have a Canadian version of Dogtown going on. It is her dream: to rescue, rehabilitate and give new lives to abused and abandoned dogs.

This means she has also gone through some very heartbreaking goodbyes. This is Roy, above on a visit with me and Pup. Steph rescued him from a drug dealing owner who beat him. She loved him from his prickly wariness into the most great-hearted dog she has ever loved. When she gained Roy's trust, his devotion was so huge that one day he pushed a slightly ajar window further open and, unimaginably, leaped from the second floor onto the concrete driveway, walked the two blocks to the store where she worked, and wandered inside looking for her. Miraculously he was not injured. She never left that window open again.

Roy began to have some problems with his stomach and would sometimes yelp in pain if someone lifted him. We thought he might have arthritis. But on Christmas Day one year Stephanie called to tell me that she had to put him down - on Christmas Day - because a tumor inside his throat had burst and he was suffering.

It broke her heart to lose him. But she rescued him from harshness and loved him into a new life. The two of them were inseparable. She has his ashes in a shrine in her living room. He was a special dog, and he definitely changed our lives.

This is Dawson. Stephanie missed Roy so much, found the apartment so empty without him, that a few months later she adopted Dawson as a puppy. She wanted a dog who would be with her for a long time, so this time got a puppy instead of an older dog.

However she hadnt taken into account the amount of energy a (very soon huge) wildish puppy would have and the amount of time and exercise he would need. Steph ran him before and after work, but the time alone when she was working was hard on Dawson. After about a year, she asked if I would take him for a while.

He loved running with Pup along the forest trails, plunging into the creeks and ponds, having another dog for company. When Steph saw how much fun he was having, she knew she couldnt give him that, and much as she loved him didnt want to bring him back to confine him in an apartment again. With love, she knew she had to let him go to where he could have a happier life. He found a new family who lived on acreage out at the lake, where he could run free, where there were children to play with, where he was better off. We heard that for one month he carried around the stuffed animal that I gave him when he left. That broke my heart. But then he was all right.

The next time Steph rescued a dog, it was Abby, seen above with Little Man Chase, who still lives with Steph but who is now nine years old and slowing down. Abby is the shepherd mix on the right. Steph found her when she was visiting the SPCA. Over the course of one month, Steph visited. At first Abby would stay far back in her cage, would growl, would not respond. Staff told her Abby was unfriendly, that none of the staff could enter her cage without her being muzzled and restrained. She was likely going to have to be put down, was considered unadoptable. But Steph said, "Just give me some time."

Every day she visited, greeting Abby, talking to her. After one month, one day Steph came in and Abby wagged her tail. Steph asked to be let into her cage. The staff was hesitant. Steph insisted. Abby responded well to Steph and Steph took her home. Staff hugged her as they left, thanking her for giving Abby a chance at a better life. Abby and Steph adored each other and Abby had her runs morning and evening and Steph's company all her non-working hours. But she wasnt good alone. She really needed another dog.

In time, Steph met James, who had a husky named Sabre. Amazing how the universe works.

They met when Sabre caught Steph's eye and she bent to pat him, saying "What a beautiful dog!" In time, they rented a place in the country where the dogs had freedom and room to run. All was good, so they brought home Little Man Chase, another rescue from the SPCA.

All was good for a couple of years. And then it wasnt. There was a traumatic breakup, the more traumatic because, when Steph returned to the city, she knew she couldnt take Abby back to an apartment in the city. It broke her heart once again, but for Abby's sake, she left her on the ten acres with her buddy Sabre and just took Chase with her.

It has been a few years since then and three months ago, Steph began to dream about Abby. A few weeks back, she phoned James to ask "Has anything happened to Abby? I've been dreaming about her." James paused, and she knew. James said it gave him a chill when Steph asked that , because right around that same time, Abby had died. She had visited Steph in dreams to say goodbye.

This is how strong the bond is. This is how much our dogs love us. They love us forever. No matter what.

Before Steph and James moved to the country, Steph kept noticing this adorable little puppy tied to a tree in a yard not far from her place. Day after day she passed, the dog would be tangled around the tree, Steph would untangle her. There was never any water, never any food. The house was a known crack house.

One day it was raining. Winter rain, lashing and relentless. The little pup had no shelter, was all tangled up, again no food or water. Steph couldnt stand it. She left a note for the owner, saying she had the puppy and was caring for her. That she was willing to buy her, or keep her, if the pup was not wanted. Left her phone number. No call came. Steph thought the puppy was safe, another rescue.

Then the police came to the door. The puppy had to be returned, or Steph would be charged with theft. James approached the owners, offered to pay whatever they wanted, a thousand dollars even. No deal. James was forced to return the puppy. The next day it was tied to the tree again. No water, no food, no shelter. It ripped Steph's heart out. She railed to the SPCA at the unfairness. SPCA must have visited. Soon the pup was at least inside the house, which was an improvement. Steph started going to work by a different route. A year or so later Steph saw this puppy with a homeless person on the sidewalk. When she approached her, the puppy snarled at her. This gentle sweet hearted little pup had been ruined.

So that's the list, folks. All these special creatures came into our lives and then were gone. We changed life for them, as most of them were rescues....and in turn they changed life for us.

This has been about dogs we have said goodbye to and, Pup still being alive, I have not told you much about him in this post. That post is coming and it will be the hardest goodbye of all. He is fourteen now, and his hind end is giving out. He sleeps flat out most of the time and there are times he seems to be having pain he cant tell me about. I am going to ask the vet for guidance soon.

I know the unthinkable day is coming when I will have to make the decision to end his time upon this planet. I want to spare him suffering, not wait too long till he is in distress or crisis. I owe him that. I have been grieving this loss for two years or more already. He has been my dog of a lifetime, the one I have loved the most, the one who got inside my soul and took up the most space in my heart. It is coming: The Hardest Goodbye. I am trying to get ready, but there is no getting ready for that one. No getting ready at all.

The Gifts of the Day

A river off of Great Central Lake, a few miles out of town.
A number of houseboats are moored on the lake - I always wish I lived in one!

My boy, happy when he gets to swim

Today, after some angst about Mother Earth, I had one of those full rich days when one cant feel anything but extraordinarily fortunate. I took the doggies for a swim to one of my favorite places, given it is not very developed (yet.)

Pup is showing his age this summer. He loves to swim, but each time, it is harder to get him back up the ramp and into the car - this time he fell flat on the ramp and simply lay there. It took treats , persuasion and will power to get him in......every time, I think: is this the last swim? But THIS day, he did get in, and was a happy boy. I took them home , cool and content.

ker-CHOO!

That's better!

Jasmine loves nothing better than going "swimmies" .

One last circle, then home.......Then I went into town to run some errands. Nothing but treats and delights! At the library I was thrilled to find Arundhati Roy's Listening To Grasshoppers: Field Notes on Democracy. This author wrote the most honest, powerful, searing and informative essay right after 9/11 called The Algebra of Infinite Justice. I cant wait to dive in, but first must finish Mornings In Jenin, the story of a Palestinian family. Also good. I also borrowed some world beat music, on the stereo right now.

At the market, they had fresh prawn Thai noodle bowls, droolingly delicious. I bought one for my supper, and one for my sister as well. It awaits, tantalizingly.

I picked up some groceries and treats for the three little voyagers I will be looking after tomorrow for the last time. I have been providing respite for them, a sibling group, since the oldest, now six, was three. The middle boy is now three and the baby just over a year. I love these kids and they love me. I have cared for them through quite a few changes in their young lives and after tomorrow, they will be going to their adoptive home, all three together. A forever family for these adorably cute, happy little travelers. I think the change is going to be hardest on the baby, who has only been in one home so far and believes the foster mom is her mother. But all we can do, those of us who give support to kids in crisis, is love them well while we have them, and then step back and hope and pray what happens next will be the best thing for them. In this case, a forever home, their best interests have to remain at the top of our minds. I will wait till they are gone to let myself understand it will be the last time. Baby steps:)

When I got home, I opened up my website to discover lovely messages from so many of you. I have to tell you, this is one of my biggest blessings these days, that I am not writing in a vacuum any more. Connecting with other like-minded writers, poets, seekers, dreamers, sharing thoughts and feelings, is something I have been needing and missing. Thank you to all of you for reading my words. I so enjoy hearing from you, visiting your sites, and reading your work in return. One of the best things that has happened to me recently was finding Poets United. Thank you, Robb Lloyd, for all the work you do to provide this meeting place!

Blessings abound. My heart feels very full this day. I am off to eat my Thai noodle bowl, with great enjoyment:) HA! and the movie rental shop just called : the movie I requested for my viewing pleasure tonight is IN!!!!! I am off - I tell you, nothing but blessings!