A Word on Dogs

I read a post today about eschewing the hesitancy to adopt a new dog following the death of one. Agree 100% that it makes sense, as I have been through, around, and up in it.

And then I look at Russell Jenkins mashing up my couch cushions and eating tissues out of the garbage can … And I agree 200%.

“You gonna eat that?”

I am grateful to carry a parcel of sadness with me for Saul, and a big satchel of it for Louis because he was, among dogs I’ve known, singularly adept at being my BEST friend and comfort whenever I needed it; through the Great Flu of 2000, the Neighbors from Hell of 2004, and as I moved around the country for grad school, work, or a needed change of venue for 15 years. But I have many bags and lots of room in my heart for days, which is how Russell became my surprise and joy, and how Peanutbutter, Eli, Kingston, Bella, Victor, Brooklyn, and all the others found purchase right up next to where my spirit meets the bone, because the ones I’d loved before broke my heart enough to make room in the cracks for others to nestle into.

Just a thought as the week is about to get underway and work and life and “argh” are all waiting to give us a hard time. Your local SPCA is likely open 5 days a week. Maybe take a trip on your lunch hour to find the one bird, rabbit, dog, cat, ferret, or (sometimes) iguana whose entry into your life might be terrific for both of you.


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