Saturday, May 21, 2011
Friday, May 20, 2011
Sunday, May 15, 2011
This morning I was astonished to realize that my precious Sunny- girl could no longer jump up on the bed to herald me to awakeness. Instead, she remained on the floor, peering up over the top of the bed, whining to be let out for her early morning pee, rather than jumping up and leveling my belly with her two front paws as she once did, every single Saturday and Sunday morning for years and years and years.
This new occurence tells me that I don't have too many more Mays with her, not too many springs and summers, falls and winters. She will turn 12 on July 29th, after all. That may not seem old to other dog owners but, for Sunny, I see the turning of the leaves, the orange fur turning white, the once golden snout becoming more grey, those once bright eyes becoming darker and more autumn-like as the days fly by.
I told a friend before my mother passed, that I believed my losses would go this way: my wonderful mother first, my beloved dog second, and my dear father last. I see now that, since my mother is gone (this past February), that it is now my dog, and my precious father remaining but that Sunny is no longer able or interested in defending my property against intruders. It is harder and harder for her to mount the back steps, she prefers sleeping at my feet above nearly all...she contends with Ella but she'd rather not and her protests about same amount to merely a whine sometimes.
Sunny has been my constant companion for nearly twelve years, the keeper of my secrets, the bearer of all that is me, the only being in my world who hasn't judged me for any of it. I find myself more often than not, lying down with her, spooning as it were, with my faithful friend. Even now, as Ella barks out the front window at some non-existent threat (a bird hopping about in the front yeard, maybe or just the wind blowing a branch past the front window), Sunny remains sleepy, posed on the brink of reality, tired and quiet.
When the day comes that she is no longer trotting happily by my side, when I can no longer stroke that blessed velvet head, I will be truly (again) berefit.
Have you had a pet that meant everything to you? If so, tell me about it.
Friday, May 6, 2011
Sunday, May 1, 2011
What a week. So many things to write about, so little space...
The Royal Wedding. Okay, so some may scoff and I also tend to make fun of it (no, I'm making fun of myself more than it), but here in the US we got a little break from the mundane, the every day grind, the fact that nobody in America is royalty, and the closest family we ever had to royalty, well, they tend to die young and tragically and leave a mess in their wake.
Let's celebrate young love and hope and promise and let's just have fun with it, shall we?
I began on facebook and I said something about how I couldn't find my "good tiara," and how my butler, Jeeves, had already left me to fend for myself in searching for the wretched tiara. Not the camo one, I said, the good one. Where did the fictional Jeeves go anyway? Probably out drinking a pint at the local pub, oblivious and uncaring to my very important distress. After searching ALONE for some time, I located a tiara made from newspaper, which I decided would have to do for the royal nuptials. Well. I then planned to move forward with my diatribe about how, when Jeeves finally returned, how he had no idea how to navigate the minivan (seriously, I don't own one of these) across the Atlantic (is he not FROM there???), and how we got stranded in Ireland and although the grass was plenty green there, I was not pleased and demanded a ferry to jolly old England. The planned ending to the whole thing was that Jeeves and I arrived, albiet very, very late and no one was at the cathedral when we arrived, my newspaper tiara was in ragged wet tatters, and so.
I missed the whole damned thing. In my make believe diatribe, that was.
Well, in reality, I watched it all. Sucked it up, every single moment of it. How beautiful Catherine was, how handsome William was...the ceremony, the pomp, the tradition...the fairy tale. How, when she got into the carriage, she was so sweet to everyone around her, those arranging her train, William holding her flowers, all those wanting to make sure the new Princess was comfortable. Oh my.
What were your reactions to the Royal Wedding?