Tuesday, November 18, 2014


Many years ago, I read a blog by a man writing about his experiences with his first child. I don't remember the name of the blog, or anything about it, really, except for one line that I read that apparently lodged in my brain and waited there for the day I would discover wolfdogs. First with Bast and now with the girls, I keep thinking about that bit of wisdom, and although I don't remember the exact wording, the essence of it was:

"I never understood the true meaning of terror until I fell in love with something that thinks staples are food."

I'll give you three guesses who put the chew marks on that brush. Hint: it wasn't me.

Whenever Bast and the girls are out of my sight, I carry around a low-grade level of subconscious fear. It isn't debilitating, but it does affect my life in small ways - my social life certainly suffers, and any time my eyes get distant or my attention wanders, it's probably wandering to my back yard, and I'm praying to whatever god will listen that all 3 of my dogs will be present and intact when I arrive.

I've never had any cause to doubt that they would be - Bast isn't an escape artist and the closest the girls have come to that is when Zelda gave me a heart attack by hiding behind the washer last weekend when the electrician came by; I'll be glad when they're fat enough that their potential hiding places are reduced.

But you can't tell a phobia to knock it off, and every day when I come in my front door, I sling whatever I'm carrying to the floor, rush to the back door with my arms outstretched, and make grabby motions with my hands until there are 3 little bodies wriggling against my palms.

It's therapeutic bliss for everyone involved.

While having a rescue animal (or 3) is often heart-breaking and exhausting, they pay you back in spades with love and delight. Like a lot of the country, this weekend we had a cold front that brought the girls their first ever experience with snow. Although our snowfall was pitiful - I think we got like, maybe half an inch - the girls were amazed and after performing their standard Starvin' Marvin inspection - "Can I eat this?" - they had a great time playing with Bast in the flurries.

Lovely Zelda sporting a snow nose

Big stretches for a little Midna

We're finally filling out and able to walk upright

Bastas telling Midna a lame joke

Lovely Midna and her own snow nose


Checking out the den

Bastas and Midna

Beautiful Zelda with her Cleopatra eyes

The Minister of Silly Walks

To end with another appropriate quote, I'm going to branch out of my usual musical tastes and cite some Moby here. I hope you'll forgive me.

I would stand in line for this. There's always room in life for this.

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