Running and chewing around the confines of our condo is a puppy.
I wasn't ready for another dog. Seamus, our Border Collie, passed away from cancer in late summer at the relatively young age of eight. Although he died peacefully at home with me at his side, the suddenness of his July diagnosis to his treatment to his rallying to his change in cancer protocol to his passing put my back to the canvas, and part of me lies there still.
Summer turned to fall then to late fall and the voice in my ear otherwise known as my spouse continually and correctly pointed out that there are lots of dogs without homes. I sighed. Over the next few days Angela, at Rez Dawg Rescue, helped our foray into fostering: Lula is from a Navajo reservation in New Mexico; an eight-month-old, 30-pound German Shepherd-Heeler mix.
Puppies are a handful. Electrical cords, anything on terra firma remotely resembling food, plus clothing, hands, feet, hair, and strangers' clothing, hands, feet and hair: all of these fit into a puppy's mouth. Happily.
It's not all work, though. Big snowflakes met Lula and I on a walk, today, at Chautauqua. As is their right, big snowflakes perch anywhere they please including their favorite runways: noses, eyes and ears. Of course, if you've never seen and felt big snowflakes before you approach them with wonder. And catch them on your tongue, and bite at them, and hop up and down, and make your friend laugh from his gut, and remind everyone within line of site that life is great and living with joy and child-like abandon makes it that much greater.