THE BEST DOG EVER! Still.

Yes, she really was.

She was warm, loving, smart, sensitive, and beautiful. She was one/third of my household, and had places in almost every room, in this small house, dedicated to her.

She was the one who greeted me,except once on the day before her death,
every day of every year she lived here. What devotion and love.


Throughout the years, I repeatedly told her that I loved her and thanked her for the love she brought to my life.



I brushed her almost every morning during these last years, while my morning coffee was being made.
I used a soft baby brush. Her fur had little oil in it and felt as soft as a baby's fuzz.
I could see the enjoyment in her big, cloudy brown eyes, as she savored every minute of the loving touch.


Her last day was a sunny day in the 70's, with just a few puffy clouds.
Any time her nose went near her food bowl, I gave her her favorite treats.
We sunbathed in the back yard, soaking up the warm sun, and feeling the energy of the green grass.
Inside, I played Charles Brown's blues CD's and laid on the floor with her.
I pressed my body against her back to feel her warmth.
I caressed and massaged her, and savored her presence.


Around 6:45 PM, at the vet, I again lay on the floor next to her.
As she experienced the supposedly euphoric sensation of the drugs, before the fatal dose, I kissed her over and over and expressed all the love I could.
I held onto her until her heart stopped and her life was over.

I miss her in almost every area of my life.
I pressed her soft toy against my nose and smelled her. I knew, with time, those sensations and reminders will fade. So I held onto it for a while.
I've slowly put away her things, and donated her food to the shelter this afternoon.

In my life, I've learned to appreciate the life force as it is here on earth and I feel secure that I appreciated hers.
Euthanasia was the best thing to do for her. She went out on a sunny day.
The next two days were cloudy and rainy. She hated that weather.
I take comfort in the fact there'll be no more rainy days for Brandy the Greyhound.
But it doesn't stop me from missing her.

LOVE IS SQUASHING BUGS

A commercial for a TV show this week is a man telling a woman “I wanna squash bugs for you.”
I think that's a nice declaration of love.
No one’s been squashing bugs for me lately.
I maturely squash my own bugs.
Squashing my own bugs is not something that comes naturally to me.
I was the youngest child with a brother, father and mother who previously squashed bugs for me. Bathtubs, basements, closet, it didn't matter where I found them; I was saved. It was a great life.
Didn’t move from my parent’s house till I got married at twenty; then my husband squashed a few for me. But that’s when I started to learn to squash my own.
Waiting for someone to rescue me from an insect, when I regularly dealt with mice and spiders in my horse stable, seemed silly. However, it was nice to have my husband as a back-up for particularly freaky encounters.
Now, single, with my own place, it comes with the territory. I am chief bug-squasher.
Initially, big spiders were the hardest to approach. Big spiders still give me the heebie-jeebies.
But then I moved to Texas and encountered extra-large roach/waterbug monsters.
Huge, dark, winged roach-like insects that die for days on their backs, and turn into a yellow, yolk-like mess if you squash them, they freaked me out the first time one flew off the ceiling onto the wall.
I had a few false starts slapping them with a slipper, before I realized they’re like armored tanks and need a hard shoe to be smashed or a straight shot of DDT.
It took me three months to finally kill one.
Ever since I adopted a cantankerous cat, I haven’t had to kill too many big bugs. I’ll find parts of bugs I would’ve had to squash, but the cat turned them into pieces.
Other than that, I squash my own bugs.
I’ll do it for the one I love, too.

What Is Love?

I know I need it, but I'm not sure what it means to me anymore.
I’m on a quest to find the meaning of love. I don’t know how to explain what it is, but I can explain what is isn’t.
It sure isn’t the guy sitting next to me in the bar, who has chatted me up two night and leads me on as if he’s single, but has been married for thirty years. That insignificant-to-him fact is only revealed after direct, specific questioning.
He had already told me all about his business, his hobbies, his land, his cattle, his ranch. He neglected to mention the little woman.
“So do you live there by yourself?”
“No, I have a family.”
“Do you have a wife?”
“Well, uh, yea, but she leads her life, I lead mine...”
That’s not love. That’s co-dependency.
I’m still on my quest.

A BRIEF INTERLUDE TO MY TOP 10 BLOGGING

Lightning and thunder removed the luxury of electricity from my neighborhood last night. It happened around 6:20 PM.
I was sitting at my desk when the darkness came, and felt for a nearby lighter. Using the lighter, I located the first of many candles. Carrying a lit candle through the house put me in touch with my inner Little House on the Prairie kid.
After several candles were lit, my home gave off the esthetic of an old, romantic movie set. My own Friday night film noir.
I located the first of three flashlights. It came on for three seconds then quickly dimmed to darkness. I took a candle to my battery drawer to locate the big D size batteries needed to give my flashlight life.
After some searching, I made a note to myself to put big D batteries on the shopping list.
My late husband’s police flashlight laid in the bottom of the drawer. It’s a big, black, heavy, metal light that can also be used to clobber someone. Though I can’t recall using it in years, when I press the on button, it brightly lights up and stays lit. His light still shines when needed.
Next I find a little clip-on flashlight that only takes two of the plentiful AA batteries I have on hand.
So now I’m well lit. Hey, why not make an adult beverage?
Leftover Xmas eggnog and Jim Beam are soon mixed in my glass with a couple of cubes. I sit in the big chair and enjoy the sweetness. Now what?
Being alone may not make holidays miserable (see earlier posting), but it sure makes a night without electricity go slow. What time is it now--6:30?
The air around me is scented with burning candle scents of Vanilla, Pear, Ginger and Lavender. I’m drinking a nectar of the winter solstice. There are no sounds, no intrusions.
What a perfect time to make love. This atmosphere begs for a lover.
Alone, even my favorite vibrator needs a live current; so I do without.
I let the flickering reflections of the candle flames on the French doors put me in a state of contemplation. Instead of noticing how quiet it’s become, I realize how noisy life is normally. I begin to revel in the quiet, much more comfortable with my one-ness. It’s nothing to be scared of, you know.
The hard rain comes again along with more thunder and lightning. My long-legged Greyhound paces around me. I’m glad the candles are enclosed in glass jars, since the coffee table where some set, is the same height as her stomach. Serendipitous foresight!



"Not into candle-play!"


So I began giving the Greyhound a homeopathic brush massage, attempting to calm her. We were both really getting into it, when something clicked and the lights and TV came back on, just like that.
First thing out of my mouth was a sad “awwww.” I would remain untested in this challenge of the unplugged. I think I was up to it, too.
The lights are now on, along with the TV. The Beam & Nog is gone. The dog is sleeping. The cat has come out of hiding. The electric life resumes.
Better kill the candlelight. Don’t want to start a fire.

Gender Differences
“I’ll let you play with my boobs if you’ll meet me at Winstar and give me money to gamble with. I’m old, fat and soft. I have big boobs.”
A woman reading the above online ad disgustedly thinks “Whore! Slut! How demeaning!”
A man reading the above thinks “She sounds like fun. I wonder what she looks like?”
No wonder we find each other fascinating.

BAD POETRY

RELUCTANT LOVE

This isn’t a dress rehearsal
This isn’t about when and if
I don’t have a life to live over
This life is the one that you’ll miss
This life is the one that you’ll miss

If I don’t care for you
If I can’t see you grow
If you won’t let me love you
You’ll miss the best part of what I know
You’ll miss the best part of what I know

This isn’t about the future
It’s not about the past
It’s about living for real, for now
Living life at last
Living life at last

Let me love you
And love me back
Don’t be afraid
I’m good in the sack
Repeat, I’m good in the sack.


BLUE COWBOY

A fantastical female with a feminine mind
Met a cowboy in quite a bind
He’d loved and lost and was feeling low
He’d been taking it easy, taking it slow
Yet here he was with hat in hand
And talking about a No Promises land
of sex and fun
and more sex, too
But with no strings attached
Cause he’s feeling blue
My, oh my, what’s a woman to do?
So, sweetly and softly, she took his hand
And showed him the door to a Promise land
He shook in his boots at the thought of more
than just sex and fun behind that door
He felt relief when she went on through
He wouldn’t explore, he liked feeling blue,
So the fantastical female with the feminine mind
waved goodbye at the cowboy with hat in hand
who decided to stay in No Promises land
And the fantastical female moved through the door
Craving a land of so much more.