It’s snowing, soft flurries floating on the air current, meandering to the ground rather than falling. It’s a temperature that, when I was a child, would be “too cold for snow.” Little me didn’t understand that and believed it was one of those things adults say to mask the truth. There are many of those statements – it tastes just like chicken, how will you know unless you try it, it doesn’t hurt, your skirt is cute, they’re just jealous – among them.
I’m editing a rom-com manuscript today and struggling a little because nothing feels very funny these days. Women are about to lose the right to vote. Trump has declared himself a king. The national parks have, again, been de-staffed. The new head of health and human services thinks people who take antidepressants (etc) should be moved to camps and that black children should be “re-parented.” And the Arab countries have finally realized that Trump actually does want to put slot machines in Gaza. This would be an SNL skit in any other world.
A woman just walked by with her dog. The dog is not walking.
The bakery across the street is really pushing king cakes. In news that’s probably the least controversial you’ll hear today, I think king cake is dry and tasteless. Sorry to all those who look forward to the cake. You can have my piece.
I’m drinking a dark chocolate mocha today, an unusual choice since I’m really not a coffee drinker but something about the dark chocolate appealed. Perhaps it’s just my body’s attempt to assuage the grief I’m feeling about all the ways this administration is attempting to hurt the most vulnerable among us.
A little girl sitting at the table next to mine said to her companion, “You’re so beautiful.” Isn’t that lovely?
Last week, my daughter rescued some betta fish from a pet store. Half of the 10 fish in the display were dead. My daughter purchased the rest to save them from spending their remaining time trapped in little plastic cups. We own a very large (55 gal) aquarium and all the stuff – filters, heaters, lights, water plants, etc. – so all she needed was substrate and food which we did not buy from that pet store. Instead, we went to an aquarium specialty store in Monroeville (Elmer’s Aquarium). The fish are now happily swimming around, hiding amongst the plants, eating the brine shrimp Haley drops into the water every day. Who knows how long they’ll live but saving them felt like a little victory in our house last week. My daughter is, however, banned from ever entering a pet store again.
In honor of ‘Love Your Pet’ day (as if we pet owners actually need to designate a day to lavish unreasonable amounts of attention on our beloved pets), I am thinking of my sweet girl, Poppy. We rescued her in 2013. She’d been born into a terribly abusive home and came to us at about 12 weeks, emaciated, recovering from multiple broken bones, with various scars that puppies should never have. The vet told us to feed her as much food as she was willing to eat so we left a bowl of food out for her to nibble on at will and she began to fill out.
She could jump as high as my shoulders and one time, jumped as I was bending to say hello to her. We collided. She was fine. I had a broken cheekbone. She was very, very sorry. Later in her puppyhood, she was playing with Tristan and bit through his eyelid. He came downstairs to tell me that he could see me when his eyes were closed. It was weird. A doctor glued it back together for us. She was sorry then too.
Shortly after she moved in, she bolted for the door as it was closing and caught a toe, breaking it. The vet said it would take a few days for her to get used to her pink cast. In less than an hour, she was running around the backyard, back to full functionality.
When we took her camping, she was so afraid we’d leave without her that she sat by the car until bedtime the first night. She was happy, though, to climb into the tent with us, sure that we wouldn’t be able to slip away without her knowledge. Then, around 2AM, she finally had to pee so badly she ran out of the tent without her leash. When she was finished, she trotted back, pleased as could be, and curled up in her tent bed which she had apparently decided was our new home. (Also, our campsite was absolutely full of garter snakes but she didn’t even notice them.)
Illustrative of her boundless enthusiasm and energy, when she was diagnosed with cancer, she put up with all the vet appointments and treatments without complaint, remaining as loving and enthusiastic as she had ever been. At one point, because she had fallen off the sofa, we made the decision to keep her on the floor. She complained – grumbling in the standard pitbull method – about the lack of petting until one of us sat on the floor with her at all times, giving her regular snuggles and pets. We also took turns sleeping on the floor beside her so we could bring her water or carry her outside to pee during the night.
She’s been gone almost two months. We miss her most in quiet moments when entering a room and realizing she’s not there to thump her heavy tail, when we drop a random bit of food on the floor that no one wants (a lettuce leaf or piece of dry pasta) but she would eat to make sure the puppies didn’t get it, when we read the mail without teeth marks from her wrestling it to the floor, when lying on the sofa without her heavy body pressed on top, her head on our hearts.
Wishing you the kind of joyous love that Poppy shared with us.
Much love.
