I love a lot about this time of year, from holiday lights to the sweetness of friends and family. Not to mention the cookies. And the cake. Just saying.
Something I’ve done for decades this time of year is to reflect on the past year and envision what I’d like the next year to include. Not New Year’s Resolutions per se, but thoughts and intentions about the time to come. (See, for example, last year’s January post.) But this year I find my vision of the year to come as a big, blank void. I know I want to keep working on my novel (more on that next post). But other than that? I find myself at a loss. Predictions of what might or might not be possible feel absurd. Surely I’m not the only one at risk of being swept away by the tsunami of news about X, Y or Z, most of it scary or sad. Perhaps that is why I am unable to come up with anything beyond one of those silly posters of a kitten clutching to the top of a door, with the letters “Hang in There!” written below.
And yet, there is beauty in a void of expectations. What I am left with is an appreciation of special moments: Skip’s radiant face when it finally snowed last week and he spun and leapt in it, a whirling dervish of joy. Maggie’s silky cheek resting under my hand every night as I slowly stroke it, both of us bathed in oxytocin. Jim’s warm hand in mine as we walk toward the evening sunset, the sky a batik painting of coral and pink and turquoise.
It is moments like these that are what make us truly happy. Not accomplishments or checked off items on a To Do list. They are what we remember best when lose them, what keeps us going when we need psychological oxygen. Nancy Bell, seamstress, musician, farmer, and writer says it well:
“I realize, as I gaze down and back from my neighbor’s window, that what I remember most are these round little moments—moments where the full Sweetness of life bore down on me and I had the sense and Grace to feel or taste it fully. These moments had very little to do with anything linear, with lists, with rushing, or ambitious goals and speeding deadlines (most of which passed me by). A lot of things I thought I had to do got supplanted by surprises I could never have imagined.”
I find myself savoring special moments more and more, living more in the present and less in the future, as it is so easy to do. My age, no doubt, has something to do with that, but I think the pandemic, environmental crisis and current political stir fry is playing a big role. Jim and I have plans for the future that may or may not happen, I’m writing a book that may or may not see the light of day, and who knows how long we will have each of our precious animals, friends and family members? And who could be better at helping us to stay in the present than our dogs, our cats, or horses or ferrets? This must be in part why we love them so much, for their meditative ability to be Right Here, Right Now.
Join me then, if you will, in a celebration of those special moments that we will never forget. Here are a few of mine, some animal related, some not:
Lying on my back on a sailboat in the Caribbean, skimming across the azure blue seas while listening to Wear Your Love Like Heaven. This happened over fifty years ago, and I can still call up the feel of the breeze, the gentle roll of the boat and the sweetness of Donovan’s voice anytime I like.
Watching a young Arabian stallion literally blush after tripping himself and falling in an ignoble heap while trying to impress a group of mares in heat. I was sixteen when this happened, and I remember it as if it was yesterday.
Last night, when it was one degree above zero (Fahrenheit), and I had put Maggie back inside because I was worried about frostbite on her paws, and Skip, thrilled with the snow and the cold, tried to engage me in the same kind of play he does with Maggie, eyes shining like stars, a huge grin on his face, his body all curvy and sideways and aching to run.
The moment last spring when Maggie and I completed the shed at the Nippersink Sheepdog Trial, after she had brilliantly handled a set of flighty sheep on a difficult course, and she knew she’d done beautifully, and was so exuberantly and obviously proud and happy that I will have her joyful, ecstatic face in my mind until the day that I die.
The day that Jim first came to the farm, and my ram, Beavis, put his head down and charged toward Jim, who stood still, made a fist and punched the 300 pound animal on the nose. I still swoon thinking about it.
And of course, all moments are not so sweet. Who can forget that moment at 3 AM when you woke up to the sound of your dog about to retch on your bed. Such a unique sound, right? But ah, this means your dog is alive, and with you and in it’s own stomach-churning way, a special moment indeed.
Your turn, lest I begin to go down a strange road of bizarre and gross moments relating to lambing (i.e, what if feels like for the first time to put your arm inside a ewe to feel for a lamb), and you all turn away in disgust.
MEANWHILE, back on the farm: Yeah, it’s cold. I’ve never noticed before I took this photograph how the red fluid descends closer and closer to the dog’s butt as it gets colder. Not to mention the placement of the red bulb. Hey, you gotta appreciate joy and foolishness where you find it.
Here’s the table set last week for our New Year’s dinner party with dear friends David and Julie:
Fried chicken, sweet potato fries, chopped salad, and tomato pudding (thanks D & J!) were on the menu. This Swedish Almond Cake (from NYT magazine) topped off our meal. It’s one of my absolute favorite deserts now–you can make it the day before, it keeps forever and is just plain fun to make. (Those are dried roses on the top.)
There’s something sweet about the reflection of our Christmas tree in the window, with the snowy barn and yard in the background:
But I’m burying the lead here: It’s Maggie ninth birthday!!! Oh my my my, I can barely believe it. If you know her well you can tell she’s slowed down–saving energy on a big outrun, for example–but otherwise you’d never know it. She’s my Gal Gadot, my mood ring, my radiant face of joy and love, and my softest, cuddliest couch friend ever. I am over the moon in love with her, have been since the day she came. Here she is with her birthday present. I love how at the end she looks at me like “Why are you staring at me in that weird way?”
And so, to you dear reader: Tell us about a special moment or two, one that you’ll always remember, and one that we’ll get all warm and gooey reading about. Or spit out our tea laughing.
And to all of you, may this New Year bring it’s own special moments of joy and love and ridiculousness, all to remind us what a wild ride this thing called life really is.
Kat says
Ranger and Finna fighting (growling, snarling, snapping but not actually biting) in the doorway about which one of them was going to go in and stop the cats from fighting.
The Great Catsby and Purrcasso wrestling in play until one of them got a bit rough and the other complained. Finna asleep in the other room came charging in to put a stop to them fighting but the cats as soon as one said “ouch” had separated one having a wash in the middle of the floor the other surveying their domain from the back of the chair. Finna glaring suspiciously but nothings happening so she goes back in the other room. As soon as she flops on the floor the cats are back down wrestling. One of them says “ouch” and they separate again as Finna leaps up to come put a stop to them fighting. Nothing happening she stares suspiciously but goes back in the other room and flops onto the floor the cats resume their wrestle until it gets a bit rough and one says “ouch”. Cats separate and look innocent, Finna charges in and glares suspiciously. She KNOWS they’ve been up to no good but they’re looking as innocent as can be. She watches them for a couple of seconds and flops down on the floor in the room where they are. No more cat wrestling.
D’Artagnan voluntarily checking in for the first time.
The smell of an old growth forest.
The scent of lilacs in bloom–which will always mean home to me.
The delight and amazement on a dog’s face when they realize a person is listening and trying to understand.
Listening to my husband and daughter sing duets as they cook dinner.
The Bloodhound I grew up with leaning on my baby brother until he dropped his ice cream cone and then the dog eating it. Even as a child I was impressed by the fact that despite my brother being pretty much eye ball to eye ball with the dog and the ice cream being at the perfect mouth height for the dog he was too polite to simply take it. If it fell on the ground on the other paw it was fair game and he wasn’t above encouraging it to fall.
Washing a lamb in woolite prior to showing it at the county fair.
Thank you for this reminder. I needed it. My father asked me what my resolution for this year is and I told him it was to make it through another year. After the last couple years that seemed as ambitious as I could imagine.
Alicesfarm says
I can think of so many special moments that I don’t know where to start. I think cumulatively it is called “a life well lived.” What a beautiful post! Well done, you!
Frances says
54 years ago: Sitting in the kitchen of a tiny 6th floor flat in Paris, watching a part albino sparrow through the window while anticipating the wonderful meal to come and thinking “I will remember this always”.
40 years ago: A pool of warm water on a Samoan beach, a friend’s 2-year old son, and tiny, jewel bright fish. And that same year, trying to worm a recalcitrant colt in a tropical downpour with the aid of a colleague and a vet, and realising that a thin t-shirt and no bra was not the wisest choice of clothing…
8 years ago: Sophy running her first zoomies after recovering from a trapped nerve in her spine, her face grinning and her eyes bright, and Sophy again last summer, overjoyed that we were having a community gathering for the first time since Covid struck, running rings around all the other, much younger, little dogs, sparkling with the joy and fun of it all.
And lots more – lovely moments that glow with warmth and comfort and laughter, to treasure in the dark times and light up the good.
MinnesotaMary says
Ah, those fleeting moments that sustain us and relive when we need them. Mine are riding bareback on my Arabian/Quarter horse as a teenager, galloping down a dirt road with our strong connection and feeling his every movement under my legs. Sitting joyfully with an old hospice patient who was over the moon for my husky therapy dog (and he also adored her). The two of them communicating in their special way (she was mostly blind and partially deaf). Their hearts were intertwined and mine was filled with joy at the opportunity to be there and be a small part of what they shared.
Barbara says
Casey, who wants the toy that is on Miley’s bed. He “asks” politely from a slight distance and waits for her answer. If she doesn’t answer quickly enough he gives a gentle soft woof. I love watching Miley give her silent answer. An extremely subtle (to me) turn of her head which Casey understands as permission to step closer and pick up the toy. Over the years I have tried to learn dog language and it is such a joy to watch. My husband is not as tuned in but last night I asked him to watch the transaction and, yay, he saw it and understood.
Susan says
Happy NINTH trip around the sun, sweet Maggie! Here’s to NINE more!
Pati Jean Diridoni- Northern California says
2021! A year full of happy firsts, sad goodbyes and hopeful inspiration to move forward. This has been my past year. Coming out of the California Paradise Camp Fire of November 8th, 2018, I am now starting to defrost and emerge out of the haze of tragedy. I have acquired new animals and some friends, bid goodbye to many friends and buried my animals from my past life. I am thanking God every day. I don’t always know why but I do it anyway. I am blessed to be alive, healthy and willing to push ahead with this grand scheme of life!! Thank you, Patricia, for your much appreciated blog!!!
Trisha says
Wow, Pati Jean, what an epic story you have been through! Your spirit is an inspiration.
Trisha says
What wonderful images MinnesotaMary, love them!
Trisha says
Frances, thanks for all the images of warmth and comfort and joy!
Trisha says
Kat, your story about Ranger and Finna “fighting” over who gets to stop the cat fight is hysterical. You pretty much made the entire post that I wrote worth it!
Mary says
The very first thing that popped into my head was the day that my husband and I went in for an ultrasound to make sure everything was okay with my pregnancy. When the doctor said, “Well, we’ve got twins!” I had an out-of-body experience like no other! While the doc measured femurs and wrote down pertinent information, I laid there with so many odd thoughts! “Wait! We can’t have twins! We only have one crib! One highchair! One play pen!” “Our house is too small for three kids!” (Child #1 was four years old at the time.) Meanwhile, my husband was having the time of his life, ‘helping’ the doctor do measurements, etc. He was really into this!! When we left the clinic, I must have looked pretty dazed, because he said, “Are you all right to drive???” I was, and somehow I knew that this was the most important day in my 29 years! (Not to take anything away from having our first child…what a miracle he was…and still is!) And now, 38 years after giving birth to two beautiful girls, we are blessed to have all three of our children living in our area, the closest is a mile away, and the other two are about 30 minutes away. Truly, I will remember that day as long as I live. (I can even tell you what the date was…June 22, 1983.)
Trisha says
Mary: Wow! That’s all I can say, wow! What a wonderful image of you, stunned with the news, and now blessed with three amazing children who live close by!
LisaW says
Oh, I was going to try and listen more and talk less, but this is such a welcome subject. (I’ll try to be quieter later.) Thanks for this; I am afraid I have fallen into a Pandemic Puddle of Plaintiveness.
I’m still in awe of the feeling I got when I looked out at 15 of our closest and dearest and longest-known friends all gathered to celebrate our wedding! After 41+ years, we decided to have a ceremonial celebration this past October (it was a small window of opportunity, all vaccinated, most boostered, no Omicron, yet). Our circle of best friends came from different cities and different eras – some I have known since third grade and the rest we have known all of our “adult” lives. They loved finally meeting each other and everyone was so happy for a reason to celebrate. Our dogson (23-year-old writer) wrote our script and officiated. We cooked yummy food, had a custom sound track made, and a mandolin player. One friend made all our cups (so we could each have our own and people could take them home) and she also made the vases and did the flowers, and Olive was the dog-of-honor. People stayed for two days to eat, visit, enjoy new and old friends. It was simply perfect.
Another feeling of bliss is jumping into the lake and swimming and floating and feeling weightlessly calm. Water is my happy place, and I try to go as often as I can and for as long in the season as possible.
And not even close to last, but for now, it is—the first time Olive fell onto us with total abandon. We were all lying in bed, and she let all her tension and fear go and flopped down whole body and heart. It was a thud heard round our world.
Happy Birthday, WonderDog, Maggie.
Trisha says
LisaW: What a wonderful picture you’ve sent us of your celebration. Makes me all oxytociny just reading it. And, congratulations! 41 years, oh my my! And Olive, dear Olive, oh what a moment that was. The thud heard around the world, and how in our little part of it. Thanks for relating it!
Melissa Starling says
Finding a wild hare leveret under ant attack, picking all the ants off him and putting him down only to have him somehow climb back into my arms and settle there. When you take a life into your hands, you have to take responsibility for it and see it through to the end, and so he came to live with me until he died of old age at 7 years. He gave me a zillion magical moments, and I was thankful for every day I had with him.
Rescuing a little blue-tongue lizard from my mother’s dog and setting it free. I stepped back to give it space. It turned around and slowly walked all the way back to me, propped itself up on my foot, looked me in the eye, then turned around and made its way off into the garden.
Watching wild birds foraging and having one make eye contact with me and for the briefest of moments, I was part of that bird’s world, and then the connection was broken and I knew that moment was the reason why I was studying zoology.
Running trails on a bright spring morning and looking for my favourite wild flowers.
A rainy day where I let go of all my responsibilities because the weather said no and just watch movies at home.
My three dogs playing with each other, all in their own styles.
Kestrel, my podengo, jumping off a rock into my arms. God she’s so fun.
Cathy Withall says
Choosing our first puppy, about 22 years ago just before my 21st birthday, watching her watching us from under the chair next to the rayburn (British solid fuel range cooker / heater), then picking her up in my arms when she just looked at me and snuggled in. My first ever dog and soul mate.
Then losing her nearly 14 years later.
Watching our now eldest dog sleep with her tongue poking out just a little bit, feet twitching, dreaming of the agility she can now do again after two cruciate surgeries and three years of rehab (albeit at a veteran level) and knowing it was all worth it.
Our funny, nervy, sensitive middle dog taking to a new puppy with love and joy, letting him get away with murder and using him as a pillow.
The youngest dog full of joy and enthusiasm for life in general, and agility in particular, falling asleep on the sofa behind my legs, just like our first dog used to all those years ago.
Robbin says
This article touched me so much! I loved every word and could relate. My moments: listening to beautiful music, seeing adoration and love in my dogs face when he looks at me,and seeing it break into a beautiful smile when I say, “you are a good boy” seeing my granddaughter petting a horse with wonder and love on her face.
Caroline says
Amazing watching Maggie. She sure took the long way round to get to the sheep. Not being a herder, I am amazed at the distance she kept from the sheep. Obviously enough to keep the pressure on. But do different sheep require different distance?
Joan Castell says
Because today happens to be his birthday my first dog, Alex, has been foremost in my thoughts. I bought him spontaneously at the Rolex Kentucky 3-day Event in 1994 (Jack Russell terrier of course) and brought him home without my husband’s knowledge. Scott fell in love with him in no time and Alex was with us for 17 years and started my love affair with all things dog. Our holiday season of 2021 was bittersweet as we lost a beloved horse and dog in November and December. Our nearly 14-year-old Golden was rather lost without his little buddy (another JRT) but now I think is starting to enjoy his status as only dog and getting all of our attention … and he had great fun playing in the fresh snow this past weekend! I’m hoping 2022 brings many good things.
Kath says
A very special moment…
I brought my sheltie to my Mom’s assisted living facility several years ago. Bill, a cranky man who often sat by the front door was there that day. He’d never met Gypsy before. My little love ran over to him, sat down and then suddenly, up he went with his front paws right into Bill’s lap. Bill bent down and held onto Gypsy, petting and smiling, rubbing his head and grinning. I’d never, ever seen him do that.
I found out a few weeks later that Bill died a day or so after this happened. I still cry a little when I think about it.
Cyndy says
The day when a very special puppy I raised for a non profit organization graduated as a service dog. When I handed the leash to the recipient she looked at me with tears in her eyes and said “Thank you for giving me my independence”.
CarrieV says
I intentionally adopted the neediest ferret from the shelter where I regularly volunteered (and adopted and foster-failed). She originally came from an absolutely horrible situation that resulted in a criminal conviction, and was later adopted to a loving home. She left a happy stable ferret. A few years later she was returned, and at that point decided she had no interest in living. The shelter director was eventually able to get her to eat somewhat willingly, but that’s as far as it went.
At home she would hide far inside a sleepsack in the back corner of her cage. I could hold her, but she obviously preferred to be left alone. I spent hours sitting near her, talking to her, feeding her, encouraging her to come to me for treats. Endless patience, and she slowly came out of her shell and shyly played. She began hiding under the bed and jumping out at me when I walked by, then quickly running back under the bed giggling. (Of course I pretended to be surprised every time.) Though she was still very reserved, I was so happy to see her beginning to get back to being a normal ferret, and was looking forward to a full transformation.
One day I found her once again curled up far inside the sleepsack, as she had been in the beginning. I knew something was wrong. I called to her and she stuck her nose out. When I reached for her she stretched her head out towards me, instead of shrinking away. It was at that exact moment that I knew she had just given me the most precious gift I will ever receive. She gave me her complete trust and welcomed me into her world. It is an honor and memories I still treasure, many years later.
Beatrice Bennert says
Wow, your post and all comments are heartwarming. I do enjoy and appreciate that very much.
Happy Birthday, Maggie!
One of my first memories: sneaking in the stable of my grandfather’s, looking for the belly button of Wanja (one of the horses). He did not harm me, the little girl standing right under his belly button. He steched his head between bis front legs, looking at me, standing perfectly still. I will never forget the look on his face at that Moment and his patience and kindness in general.
liz says
Coming home one day to dogs and husband playing in the yard, I was so happy to see them. The thought occurred to me to run to the dogs as fast as I could, overjoyed, they same way they run to me upon greeting. The youngest dog sees me running towards her, and starts barreling back at me, with wild eyes and elated smile. I couldn’t imagine being happier. Then I realize we’re quite close to each other and I’m essentially playing ‘Chicken’ with her heading towards my kneecaps. She wins! I leap out of the way to avoid her slamming into me, and skin my elbow like a child. Totally worth the scar.
j says
My Aussie girl who comforted an old man with dementia, stuck in the worst day of his life: he witnessed the bombing of Pearl Harbor. He sat and shouted warnings of the impending strike, called out as each bomb fell in his memory. Then he would fall silent, and his hand would come off the wheelchair arm and pat the air. I guided my dog under that hand and she stood there, letting him pat her, until Pearl Harbor was attacked again. After several rounds, an attendant came in and asked the man if he was ready for bed. “I’m not leaving while that dog is here,” he replied.
My Aussie boy, an exuberant young adult before epilepsy struck, coming in to say hello to another dementia patient, an old woman who gave no sign that she knew we were there. I reached across her lap to guide his head forward. She grabbed my wrist, and without thinking I put her hand on his neck’s thick fur. Her eyes flew open, and she looked directly at me for the first time. “A dog!” She had the bluest eyes I have ever seen. She turned back to him as he wiggled and grinned and patted him for perhaps 30 seconds before she drifted away again.
Both of those dogs are long dead now but they gave everything I ever asked of them, and more.
B L Stanek says
My best boy Sawyer died of hemangio in October. While I can think of many wonderful moments from this past year, his passing has overshadowed almost everything in a way that I haven’t experienced in my 74 years. Fortunately, I can write about his death today without dissolving. That is progress. While I’m sure that I will get past this experience the wiser for it, I am surprised about my depth of grief. The boy took me to great highs in our journey together. It probably should be no surprise that the depth of my grief is equally deep. This knowledge alone is a shining moment of insight.
Pati Jean Diridoni says
I have read and loved every single story. We are so blessed to have each other as “canine” friends and lucky we can share openly about our pooches and family!
Trisha says
Barbara, I am so sorry. Grief is such a powerful thing. And a reminder of how powerful our love was. And is. Hugs.
Wanda Jacobsen says
I cannot help but recall the day we found a soaking wet, shivering puppy on the side of our road out in the country on Labor Day weekend. When my husband picked her up, he was fearful her little heart would come out of her chest and into his hand. Of course, we raced her back to our home, cleaned her up and got her nice and warm. Fast forward to Christmas, when she raced into the house and immediately “attacked” our Irish terrier as if she had not been living with our son and daughter-in-law for weeks. Little Cassie (she was still losing her baby teeth when we found her) is full of love, life, and fun today. Everyone who hears her story cannot help but wonder (and condemn) how someone could dump this beautiful little girl. Our son tries desperately to convince her he does not need to be barked and growled at as he feeds her, takes her for walks, and pets her softly as she sleeps in their bed. Is this little dog recalling how some man dumped her on the side of the road, or abused her in ways she cannot forget? We will never know, but we do know this little white dog with the touch of caramel on her ears will be treasured as the jewel she is.
Donna Baker says
What a beautiful post, as always. I think of these type of moments as “mini peak experiences,” the phenomenon described long ago by the psychologist Abraham Maslow. I wrote about one as part of a “eulogy” I penned the night before I lost my first Golden Retriever, Eliza, who died on January 8, 2000 at age 14. I was consumed with anticipatory grief that night, knowing the next day would be her last, and I poured my sorrow into writing about favorite memories of our time together. The excerpt that comes to mind for this post is similar to the comment left by Liz above, and took place at at a kennel I used that was part of the owners’ home, where the dogs could run freely in a huge fenced yard. It read:
“Once I took a little weekend trip by myself to Tangier Island, in the Chesapeake Bay. It was an interesting, but not very welcoming place, and I was acutely aware of being both an ‘outsider’ and alone. On my return, I went to pick you up at the kennel, very much in need of ‘doggie hugs.’ You were hanging out with Suzie, down by the shed in the backyard, when I arrived. I called to you with your special sing-song name: ‘Lizey Lize!’ To my great disappointment, there was no response — your head stayed down and you continued to sniff around the shed disinterestedly. Maybe you didn’t hear me, I thought, so I called again, louder this time: ‘Lizey Lize!’ This time your head came up slowly, focused in my direction — and then you saw me.
I’d read somewhere that dogs who are running at high speed only have two feet on the ground at any one time. That day, I’d swear none of your feet touched the ground as you came flying over the yard to greet me, practically tumbling head over heels in your excitement. I know a non-dog owner wouldn’t understand this, but those few seconds it took for you to reach me were some of the most precious seconds of my life — an honest-to-goodness peak experience.”
My Lizey’s been gone 22 years tomorrow, but I can still see the joy on her face that day like it was yesterday, and feel the corresponding joy in my heart as she ran to me.
Timaran says
My boy Ronan walking up to me and resting is chin into the palm of my hand and gazing into my eyes. My sweet girl Tamsen jumping on to the sofa and backing her way under my arm so I can stroke her chest. Oxytocin indeed.
Kathleen Gibson says
Such tender, beautiful memories. Thank you, Patricia and all. I had a purebred tri-colour Scottish Collie in my teens, a 13th birthday gift from my folks after months of pleading. I named her Panda. She only lived three years and we became as inseparable as butter on toast. So many memories remain. I spent a week or two with a cousin in the country one summer. On my return, Panda sped toward me and leapt into my arms. Then, down again. Up again. To my and my parents’ amazement she leapt up dozens of times, unstoppable, whimpering all the while. Finally spent, she simply sat and leaned against me, pointed her beautiful nose high and began to utter a keening so haunting it brought us all to tears. I’ve never heard that sound from a dog before or since. I never left her again for more than one night. Panda died on my sixteenth birthday, victim of a hit and run as she stood night-watch at the end of our city driveway. A neighbour witnessed a driver deliberately swerve into the place where she stood. Her broken body flew into the opposite ditch. Every bone in her body had shattered on impact, the vet told my father. I’m 65 and still grieve. Nevertheless, those three years were a gift of grace to me during my emotionally turbulent adolescence. I’ve had only four dogs since, lovely pups. But, unlike Panda, none seemed more human than canine.
Melanie Hawkes says
Geez Kathleen, that is awful. How could someone? We just have to savour every moment we have.
One special moment I recall is when I was getting on a bus with my first service dog Gordy. The bus driver offered to lift the seat up to make space for my wheelchair, and I said “it’s ok, my dog can do it!” “This I’ve got to see” he replied, and got up to watch. It took months of training to get Gordy to do it, so it was a proud moment when I could finally show off his skills.
Another time was when my mum was walking Happy, my second dog (in training). Someone remarked “Your dog looks happy!” He’s 14 this year and still wagging his tail.
Trisha says
Kathleen, what a heartbreaking story, and yet what grace to know how much Panda gave you while she was alive.
Barbara Briggs says
Totally not dog related, even though they fill my life. As a 15 year old teen, I played flute and piccolo with the Jacksonville (FL.) Symphony. We were playing Dvorak’s Symphony “From the New World”, and when we got to the 4th movement with all the cannons and chimes going off, I had one of those feelings. I was in the midst of a cacaphony of sound, so glorious and heart pounding that I thought my heart would burst out of my chest. I was proud of playing with a professional group, surrounded by others who understood the joy and emotion of being immersed in a language without words. We were connected. We radiated joy. And music continues to be such a trigger for me for events and feelings I have had in the past.
Trisha says
Oh Barbara, just reading this was glorious! Thank you so much for it.