nakedjen

You are what you love not what loves you.

One.  I'm sorting through a box of very important papers.  I only know the contents are very important because the words Very Important Papers was hastily scribbled on the outside of this recycled box before it was shoved under the eaves of the house, who knows when, however long ago.  There are names scratched in his tell-tale left-handed sideways scrawl on torn bits and there are random lists with some of the items scratched through and others left still hoping to someday, one day, any day be completed. 

They will never be completed.

There are bills and more bills, most of them unopened.  Were they ever paid?  Torn pages from magazines that contain both pictures and stories of dreams that were shoved in this particular box deemed very important, but then long forgotten. 

There's a toy that once belonged to Clyde. An empty coffee mug with the detritus of the last drops of coffee now a permanent solid goo along the side and the bottom.  An SCO mouse pad. A badge identifying me as a consultant for Sun Micro Systems.  Pennies and nickles and dimes and quarters.  A candle once used for wishing heart-felt wishes on the new moon.  Did they come true?

It was called Furkefying. The tossing of everything on the desk tops into a box and labeling it Very Important Papers and then shoving it away and rarely ever unearthing it again.  Something his family had done.  Something we did when the clutter became too much. 

I'm not quite sure how this furkified box came with me and is still here or why I found the need to carefully excavate all the contents before dumping it all in the proper recycling containers?

There is no new news, no grateful unearthed bits, just a lot of shredded dreams.

 

Two.  It is no secret that I have very special place in my heart for farmers.  Organic farmers, especially.  That I hug them whenever I get the chance and that my secret boyfriend desire these days is the organic farmer who also owns his own pot of glitter and is comfortable wearing a tutu and maybe writes his own books.  I know, I know.  Tall order.  A beet fairy girl can have her fantasies!

I must be far more chatty about this than I even realize because just yesterday as I was waiting for my daily espresso at my beloved Coffee Garden, the barista pulled my four shots and then as he handed me my beautiful drink said, "Nakedjen, I have a present for you."  I couldn't even begin to imagine what on earth the barista would have for me?  I've been going there, as we know, every day since I arrived in this Salty City and this was the first time anyone made mention of an actual present.  There's been LOTS of free espresso for which I am ALWAYS truly grateful, but a present? 

Then Ben, the barista, pulled a sack from under the counter filled with organic heirloom tomatoes.  That he had grown.  In his own garden.  And he said he brought them just for me because he knows I love farmers.  Especially the organic ones. 

I am not going to lie to you.  I absolutely SQUEALED.  So much so that everyone who was just rubbing the sleepy sand from their own eyes and was still waiting for that caffeine jolt to bring them to life got a shocking wake up call.  And, yes, of course I hugged him.  Passionately! 

I'm still rather amazed, honestly.  I adore all my farmers at the market, as we all very well know.  But this was incredibly kind and special.  I had some of them for dinner last night and I know it's just me, but people, I could absolutely taste the love. 

Who have you shared your garden bounty with this week?  I'm pretty certain there's a beet fairy girl who would just love to squeal at the gift of a tomato.  Go and share!

 

Three.  I have nearly a terabyte (who would have believed we'd have terabytes of anything??! And doesn't it almost feel like that specific drive should be snarling with dinosaur teeth and stomping around on huge feet ready to take over Japan? Or China, even? I am TERABYTE, FEAR ME!) of music.  All kinds.  Because while you may think the only possible music I can ever listen to is by that band that held my ankle tightly by a string and carried me floating along on their adventures for so many years, it is actually quite the opposite.  Of course, yes, I have nearly all their live shows, every single one, included on that TERABYTE, but I think you might be shocked at what else you'd find there.  Or maybe you would not be shocked at all.  Because, maybe you're like me and you just know that music is the beautiful language of our souls that we all innately speak.  From birth. That there really isn't any bad music, just music that suits what we need at this particular moment in our journey as we spin together around the sun.

There's lots and lots and lots of music on that drive.  Which, especially on Sunday afternoons, I enjoy allowing to shuffle through and surprise even me because I forget what gems it actually contains.

On Sunday last I had hit shuffle and the music was gently wafting through our entire house.  The dogs and I were having a lazy day with the New York Times.  Except suddenly it was not lazy at all.  Suddenly there was this HUGE racket and I couldn't quite figure out why both dogs were barking like the house had just been invaded!

I walked into the living room to sort out the ruckus to find Stella circling the entire room like she's on a search and rescue mission and Buddha standing on the couch looking completely and utterly perplexed!  They were looking for Dave Winer.  They both know him and adore him.  And his voice, at that very moment, was coming from all the speakers in our house. 

I had one of his podcasts on the drive.  It had shuffled on and he was speaking about something to do with the River of News and the dogs, well, were certain that he MUST BE IN OUR HOUSE RIGHT NOW! 

Stella, being the smarter of the two, finally went over to one of the speakers and decided that he must be inside.  So she stood there and does what any labrador does when she's absolutely positively certain of something.  She tried to eat it.  This unprecedented activity caused Buddha to LEAP from the couch like he was playing the role of Spiderman in his primary school production, land right on top of Stella and then I had a ring side seat to a barking snarling WWF match of doom.  In the living room.  Because Dave Winer was stuck inside the speaker.

I turned off the podcast.  His voice stopped.  Magically, so did the match of doom.  Except Stella wasn't quite convinced that all was completely well.  He was in there at one point, he had not come out, so he must STILL be in there.  Treats were a mere miniscule distraction for a short while and I changed the to playlist to Coltrane so we could return to our lazy Sunday afternoon.

She hasn't forgotten though.  She keeps checking.  She just better not try to really rescue him. 

Ready? Set? Go!!

There is so very much that I wish to chat with all of you about, but first we had a contest. We did. 

The winners were chosen by the little widget from Random.Org and it turns out that Stephanie and Stardustdawn will each get the teas for their dogs.  But, remember, you're all going to receive a sample of Honest Kitchen Food (and they have a new, completely grain free food coming in September for both Cats and Dogs) and so if you get an email from me asking you for your mailing address it is simply so I can get the information to Honest Kitchen so you all can get your FREE STUFF!  So please don't think I'm sending you porn.  This time, it's not!

Meanwhile, though, I feel like I'm about to burst at the seems with all the goings on and things I want to talk to all of you about because there's good and there's bad and there's funny and there's sad and it feels like I haven't typed with my fingers flying across a keyboard just to share the words swirling inside my head in so long that my head now resembles a hornets nest that was designed by Tim Burton with help from Edward Scissorhands.  Who, yes, I realize is the darling OF Tim Burton, but he has the Scissorhands!  There are missing bits and pieces you see.  It is his design.  Courtesy of Mr. Burton.  All swirling somewhere above my neck where a head is supposed to be. 

That's me. If you were to see a photo.  There isn't one.  Use your very beautiful and active imaginations.

Let's leave you with a list.  Of the topics to come.  Just, so, you know, there's something to at least keep us all honest and perhaps maybe you all want to write the blog posts instead?  There's a thought.  At this point, given the Tim Burton Hornets Nest state of my head, you all might do a far better job.  You're all brilliant writers!  Here, have a go!

• Eating Raw and Yoga Every Day
• Cherry and Sasparilla Kombucha
• Guerrilla Drive-In ~ Salt Lake City style
• There's Enough Phish for a Feast
• Google Is Trying To Kill Me
• If I'm Not Nakedjen, Then Who Am I?

Ready

Now We Are Six

When Buddha and Stella chose me to be their dog mama, I made a conscious decision that they would eat the very best food possible.  While they spent their first eight weeks growing up with their brothers and sisters, I was determined to find them a human grade dog food that best matched the food that I had been making for Clyde for the final years of his life.  I was convinced, honestly, that the reason Clyde lived for as long as he did was because he ate a 100% organic diet that I cooked especially for him every single day. 

I knew, though, that with two dogs, coming into my life as puppies, that I needed a better solution.

I found a lot of really excellent available dog foods, but in one way or another, none of them really seemed to add up to exactly what I wanted for the dogs.

Then I found The Honest Kitchen. 

The dog food from Honest Kitchen is food with a real conscience.  It is 100% human-grade, with ingredients like free-range sustainably farmed chicken, ground organic flaxseed, sea kelp, and organic fair-trade quinoa.  It was, truthfully, a food I could feel 100% comfortable about feeding to my dogs.  It's dehydrated, so to make it for the dogs, I just have to add warm water, mix it in their bowls, and give it time to rehydrate.   Buddha and Stella are a bit wacky about it and Stella will go so far as to lick the bowls twice just to be sure that she's gotten all the goodness.

I can never say enough good things about this food, but the proof is in my dogs.  They have shiny coats, startling white teeth and they're just truly healthy.  And, today, they are six.

Honest Kitchen has just added two new medicinal teas to their line of supplements for pets.  I can share that a certain Master Herbalist that we know helped them to develop these particular teas and a certain Stella Blue was also specifically helpful in testing out their effectiveness.  Stella is always ready to help her animal sisters and brothers.

Quiet Tea™ is made from human-grade Oatstraw, Chamomile, Passionflower, Skullcap and Valerian root. It's designed to help promote calmness and alleviate anxiety, tension and excitability during stressful or over-stimulating situations caused by factors such as separation, thunderstorms, travel or events. It's suitable for both dogs and cats. 

 

Quiet Tea saved our lives, all four of them, over the 4th of July holiday.  It is magic for Buddha, truthfully.  A dose of this and he completely forgets that the bombs are bursting in air.

 

Easy Peesy Tea™ contains human-grade Horsetail, Cleavers, Couch grass, Nettle and Marshmallow root. It's intended to help support normal healthy functioning of the urinary tract, including bladder control and the alleviation of urinary irritation. It's suitable for both dogs and cats. 

 

While we don't have bladder control issues here at the moment, I know dogs who do and this tea has worked really well for them.

 

In celebration of their sixth birthday, Buddha and Stella want to give presents to all of you.  For every person who leaves me a comment telling me about their pet and that they've LIKED Honest Kitchen on Facebook, they'll receive a free trial size of The Honest Kitchen dog or cat food.  Your choice. 

 

Plus, two people will be chosen at random to receive the Quiet Tea and the Easy Peesy Tea. 

 

So, leave us a comment.  Or two.  Or seven if you've got seven dogs and cats. 

 

It's Buddha and Stella's birthday and they really want to celebrate with each and every one of you and your beautiful fur creatures, too.

 

 

Orange Frisbee

When it was really dark and the outside was quiet and the inside was quiet and we were all in our sleeping places, he came.

He broke the lock on the door to get inside.

He took lots of HER things, like that thing that rings and bings and sings. He took it from HER. He took the box that held the woman from England who told us to turn this way and that way and who was always doing her math problems as she recalculated.  That woman from England was a part of our family.  He took her from us.

He took the fuzzy yellow ball. The orange and blue ball. The green ball that had feet and squeaked.  It was really dark, the outside was quiet and the inside was quiet and we were all sleeping in our places, and he took all of our toys. Even my orange Frisbee.  My favorite orange Frisbee.

Gone.  All gone.

SHE called the police.  I heard her tell them that he took all the toys. My favorite orange Frisbee and the balls and the squeaky ones and the rest of them, too. I heard her tell the police officer that he had squawked with that things that rings and bings and sings and that SHE knew where he might be, but the officer didn’t seem to care, not even about my Frisbee.

There were gray skies and clouds and the cold winds were blowing and there were no balls to chase. He had taken all our toys.

SHE told a little blue bird.  In the dark he had come and taken our toys and her gadget that rings and bings and sings and couldn’t anyone help?

It was a newspaperman, kind and sincere, who called HER.  He wanted to know about the fuzzy yellow ball and the orange and blue one, too.  The green ball with feet and the squeaky voice. He wanted to help us get back my beloved orange Frisbee.

If he had asked HER, she would have given him whatever he wanted.   SHE always does. 

When the sunlight came, peaking just around the edges of the grey, pink and golden and very soft like feathers, SHE took us all for a ride to a place where broken dreams leaned in shadowed doorways just waiting for me to fetch them.

My orange Frisbee was at the bottom of the motel’s dumpster.  Discarded with hypodermics and grease stained Kentucky Fried Chicken buckets and shattered beer bottles. 

SHE fetched it.  I haven’t let it go.

When it is really dark and the outside is quiet and the inside is quiet and they are in their sleeping places, I am watching and I am waiting.  For him.

Black as Hell, Strong as Death, Sweet as Love

THESE ARE THE PEOPLE OF MY NEIGHBORHOOD

I lived in Santa Cruz for twenty years.  I went to Lulu Carpenters for many of those twenty years, nearly every single day, every morning, before taking my dogs to the beach for a walk, to get my coffee.  In those days I drank a quad latte.  Always.  The same drink.  Every day.  Lulu's had punch cards that the folks who worked there punched and ten punches earned you a free beverage of your choice. 

I had lots of these cards, filled for free beverages, and occasionally I'd cash all of them in and buy everyone in line with me on that particular grey dreary morning (we do have them in Santa Cruz) a coffee.

In other words, I was very much a regular face, a regular patron, a woman who claimed Lulu Carpenter's as her own.

For many, many years.

I've lived in Salt Lake City for three years.  I go to the Coffee Garden nearly every single day, every morning, usually after taking my dogs for a run in Liberty Park, as the Coffee Garden sits between my house and Liberty Park and it is easier to drink my shots of espresso in twenty ounces of organic coffee after I've run than while trying to run.  Less slosh, more coffee actually getting consumed for maximum caffeine benefit.  That is why I drink it, after all.

The Coffee Garden has punch cards, too, and ten punches earns you a free beverage of your choice.  I save these cards up and occasionally on grey cold snowy mornings I cash them all in at once and buy everyone in line with me a coffee of their choice. 

The entire time I lived in Santa Cruz, all those mornings spent purchasing my quad lattes at Lulu Carpenters, never once, not once, did they ever learn my name.  Not once, never once, did the lovely people who worked there show even the faintest sign of recognition or acknowledgement that I was, perhaps, a regular customer.  Not once did anyone remember what I drank or ask me about my day. 

When I walk into the Coffee Garden every morning, I'm greeted by the barista.  No matter whom it might be.  The people working there know that I sometimes bring my own mug.  They know that I walk the dogs and that I work at the University.  They know that I live nearby and that I am obsessive about film and about Sundance.  They ask me if I've run naked on a beach lately and if I celebrated the new moon. 

I feel loved at the Coffee Garden.  I feel like if I don't show up, for my shots of espresso, they notice.  Like they're family who truly cares and while I know that's probably complete poppycock, it's a remarkable difference about the culture in Utah, in general, and the culture I experienced and really embraced for all those years in Santa Cruz.

I love and loved Santa Cruz in mad and passionate ways.  Do not misunderstand me.  It is one very special place and the people who live there are incredibly generous and kind and lovely.

However, I have to give mad props to Salt Lake City and those who truly call it home.  The kindness here, the open hearts, the love does shine.  It's time I give a proper shout out and say thank you for loving me so well.

 

THEY LOVE ME MORE

There are days when you're particularly grateful for the house that has all hardwood floors.  Like the morning you awake to dog vomit in various amounts and viscosity redeposited like unhappy odorous gifts just waiting for you as you walk from your bedroom to the living room.  Where you find Stella, the offending gift giver, retching once again just beyond the edge of her dog bed and looking more than pitiful. 

It's a Sunday, of course, so your first thought is that your regular vet is closed and you can only hope that keeping her comfortable will allow you all to pass the hours until Monday morning when the vet's office will open. 

However, things quickly go from bad to much, much worse and scary and there's blood now, copious amounts of blood, and while you know MUCH BETTER than to play Dr. Google, you still do and determine that your listless dog, with blood spewing, must go to the ER right away. 

I realize that many of us feel that dogs are just that.  Dogs.  That rushing to ER's, that spending the equivalent of a month's rent on emergency veterinary care for an upset stomach is just ludicrous. 

I'm just not that person.  When Stella and Buddha chose me, entrusted me to share this journey on the planet, gave me their hearts and, in turn, took mine to carry gently on their 8 big black paws, we formed a pack and made a pact.  I would absolutely do everything necessary to make certain that they were always happy and healthy and lived a good long life. 

So I spent all day Sunday with Stella in the ER making absolutely certain that she was going to live.  She has done the same for me.  It's just what we do.  Dogs and the people who are lucky enough to love them. 

There's no price tag on the love of a dog.  It just can't be computed. 

 

WHO DO WE THANK?

Is anyone else as disenchanted with Hollywood and the Oscar Nominations for this year, in particular, as I am?  Do you really feel that the best of the best have been recognized for their great efforts over the past year?  We're just 15 days away from the actual awards ceremony so there's no changing anyone's mind now about whom was nominated for what, but as someone who used to look forward all year to the Oscar Ceremony, I am having trouble even getting myself excited to tune in this year and of course that has me wondering about all the rest of you, those of you who go see the small independent films that matter, the films that might not have millions of dollars wagered just to get a nomination.

I wish I AM LOVE and Tilda Swinton had received far more recognition.   It is a truly stunning film and you should see it.  I am happy to see that all five of the documentary film nominations are films I loved from SUNDANCE, but I'm thinking EXIT THROUGH THE GIFT SHOP (while I loved it) does not belong there as much as the thoughtful A SMALL ACT.  Again, I know I'm only one small movie goer who is kind of crazy passionate about film, filmmakers and the stories that they dare to share.  I just wish Hollywood would pay a little more attention to the stories that matter instead of the dollars that feed the machines. 

Tell me, you very smart and thoughtful and visionary people, what was your favorite film this year?  What wins your vote?  I really do want to know.

 

 

That Space Between The Earth and Sky

December 4 Prompt

Author: Jeff Davis
The Journey from the Center to the Page
@JeffreyDavis108

Prompt: Wonder. How did you cultivate a sense of wonder in your life this year?

Every single morning, at precisely 5:00 a.m., no matter the weather, no matter the day of the week, no matter what time I may have gone to bed the evening before, Buddha finds his way to my bedside, puts his nose to my nose and nudges me awake.  At the exact same moment, Stella's tail starts her rhythmic THUMP, THUMP, THUMP across the bedcovers.  If my eyes do not open and I do not place my two feet on the floor within 30 seconds of this puppy love alarm, there is a very ecstatic nudge from Stella as she uses all of her 100 pounds to shove my body toward the edge of the bed and Buddha starts in with his own version of french kisses. 

It's quite the way to greet the morning. Every.single.day.

Once I'm verticle, both dogs, as if trained by some oh so sage wise yogi, bow to me simultaneously in perfect downward dog poses. I can never help myself and always remark, "Oh, what beautiful downward dogs!" and this results in more tail wags, and a repeat performance.  While the dogs do their yoga, I'm guessing at the weather and searching for appropriate dog-walking clothes.  It doesn't matter what might greet us on the other side of our front door, the morning walk is sacrosanct, a pact between me and the big black dogs. 

There's a wonder, a meditative quiet, a peace and place for real gratitude in that space between earth and sky where dogs and their humans gently share their hearts before the sun rises.

That hour, of them, of me, of us traversing the city streets and alleyways and parks and school yards with my mind unfettered and the dogs unleashed celebrating the joy of a squeaky ball caught mid-flight and the sound of their eight paws galloping across the grass glittering with frozen dew always passes far too quickly. 

I wouldn't miss it for anything in the world.  It is the wonder of it all that has, absolutely, saved my life.

One Happy Meal

Months and months ago, I'm not even quite sure when it was, I was on the phone with my youngest sister, Robin.  The fact that I was on the phone with her is rather unusual and notable for both of us because I never know where my phone is and Robin rarely, if ever, calls me.  We might be sisters, but we tend to communicate using our special sister psychic powers.  Phones are for amateurs.  Or bad news.

On this day, though, she had bad news to share and was gulping and sobbing into the phone.

"The vet says that there's nothing we can do for Duval. Nothing.  That we can't do any radiation or chemo for him."

Duval, for those of you who are new to this story, is Robin's beautiful dog.  He's more than a dog, though.  As I say so often about our furkids who happen to so selflessly share their lives with us, Duval is a god with four paws who absolutely chose Robin as his familiar and who carried her heart every so gently on his four paws and took her care and well-being as his most important job.  Ever.  He was born to do nothing else.  He worried constantly about where Robin was and how she was feeling and because of this the two of them were just always together, better together, never separate. 

The cancer sentence is always grave. Duval's cancer was neurological and rare. Nearly impossible to treat.  The outlook was especially grim and on that day, so very long ago, not a single one of us was prepared to hear it. We certainly were not ready to accept it.

I was doing my best to give big sister calming and soothing and loving advice, to dig deep and offer possible holistic solutions, when I heard Robin shout, "I need a Happy Meal please, but make sure you hold the onions on the cheeseburger!"

Then she said to me, "Jennifer, I'm going to just kill this dog with McDonalds!  At least he'll die happy."  Then turning to her beloved dog, she continued, "Won't you, Duval?  You don't even know you're sick.  You just want to wag your tail and make everyone happy! And that's what I just need to let you do.  For all the rest of your days."

I couldn't help but laugh.  Robin was in the drive-thru ordering her dog a Happy Meal.  Indeed, a Happy Meal was Duval's most favorite meal in the world.  If Robin couldn't save her dog with special cancer drugs, she was going to give him the very thing that always made his tail wag the most (other than Robin herself). 

I listened as Robin moved forward to pay for Duval's spcial medicinal meal.

"Hello, Boo, you got your baby with you today?!" I heard what has to be the kindest and nicest McDonald's employee in the entire nation say to my sister.  "I've got his Happy Meal.  No onions, just like you asked.  I just know he's going to love it, just like always.  You're a good mama taking such good care of him."  Obviously, Robin and Duval were regulars at this drive-thru and well-loved.  Very well-loved.  "You have a beautiful day now, you hear? I'll see you again, soon."

The entire exchange just made me smile.  We are a family of crazy dog people, I know.  It's legendary the things that we, as a family, will do for our dogs.  Robin is no exception and her devotion to Duval knew absolutely no boundaries.  None.  She trusted her heart to that dog and he gave her every moment of every single breath that he had.

She gave him Happy Meals and Duval gave her the Happy.  Every.Single.Day.

This morning, Robin had to say goodbye to her beloved Duval.  The world, our world, has lost one very marvelous wagger of tails.  He was a most handsome blond man who filled all who encountered him with smiles and genuine joy.  Those of us who were lucky to know him will miss him greatly.

Happy trails, Duval.  We're all, every one, much better for your love and I promise to wag more and bark less.  xox

GOOD GOD MANGE IS EXPENSIVE AND NASTY TO TREAT!

Hello, my fine dog loving friends. Can you find it in your hearts to help Isis with her medical bills? http://bit.ly/93k2WF  Please?!

Donate directly to her PayPal Fund right here (you'll need to scroll to the bottom to find the DONATE button).

If you donate and you let me know, I'll send you some Clyde's Cookies to THANK YOU. Promise. 

UPDATE!!: If you DONATE you can also win some pretty darn fabulous ORGANIC GOODNESS and BLOGHER 10 SWAG courtesy of MFA MAMA.  I realize that most of you will just DONATE because you're lovely dog people who help dogs who need help! But, you know, now there's ORGANIC GOODNESS infused with mad love and some BLOGHER SWAG, too!  Let's go help ISIS!

The Person My Dogs Think I Am

You wake me every morning, just moments before 5:00 a.m., by putting your warm wet nose against mine and breathing out in a way that only you are capable of ever doing.  One.Two.Three. Your sister hears this and her big, black, furry tail thumps in rapid succession on the bed. One.Two.Three.  The alarm follows within seconds and if all that doesn't work, you are not shy with your tongue at all and I get a face full of dog slobbery kisses.

Good morning to you, too, Buddha.  Yes, it is, in fact, another day in our neighborhood.  Yes, we're all very lucky live to be alive.

Starlight sent from light years away still pierces the dark velvet sky on our mornings.  We're the only ones awake most days and it's just the three of us.  The only sound is often your eight paws thundering across the soccer field and the occasional squeak from the ball as Stella snatches mid-flight.

These mornings, our mornings, are precious to me.  They are, quite literally, the reason I am still alive. You two never ask anything of me, truthfully.  You'd wait forever and until well beyond that for me to take you for a walk, your patience and love for me is the absolute definition of unconditional. 

How very lucky and blessed is the heart that is loved by a dog. And even more blessed to be loved by two. There's so much to be learned in the loving, but most importantly, it is that you'll never be able to give them nearly as much as they give you. 

 

Dog spelled backwards is God.

I'm on the phone. Speaking to my sister.  Stella is determined to get my attention (because no one is allowed to ever not always pay attention to her) and so she is holding a tennis ball at the very tip of her lips.  Gently.  She's not even touching it with her teeth.  This is one of her tricks.  To profer up the tennis ball, at the tips of her lips, almost like a seal balancing a ball on the tip of its nose, and hope, beyond all hope, that eventually I'll notice and throw it for her.

But I don't notice soon enough so instead she decides to throw it for herself.  Down the sidewalk she FLINGS the ball.  Then she gleefully chases after it as if it is a loose squirrel that has been pelting her with apricots (oh, yes, we have those same squirrels at our house...perhaps they're part of the Utah militia?) and she leaps in the air, attacks it and returns to the porch all in one swift black furry Labrador motion.  I've said before that Stella could be one of the better Ball Girls for Wimbledon.  She also looks quite lovely in tennis whites.

This goes on and on and on.  The throwing, the retrieving, the furry flurry of black whizzing down the sidewalk.  The thing about Stella is that she's in constant motion.  It's like sharing my life with the Tasmanian Devil.  She.Never.Stops.  Ever.  Fury of fur. 

Which is why I have Buddha.  So aptly named.  Who knew?  Mr. Buddha is in a constant state of meditation and will cock one eyebrow whenever the whirling dervish that is his sister comes bounding into his bubble of contentment.  Just one eyebrow.  That is all it ever takes.  Stella immediately will bow, in the most beautiful display of downward dog (she should also teach yoga), pay homage and supplication to her brother, ask forgiveness and then, immediately, go back to knocking over the furniture, licking the outlets, and making quite certain that all pieces of paper in our house, no matter how important, are in one inch by one inch pieces for proper recycling. 

I know, I know.  I say it over and over.  I have the best dogs, ever.  I really should just say, I have the best dogs, so far.  Because every dog, to me, is always the best dog.  I know, those of you who share your life with a dog, feel the same way about yours.  That you'll argue with me for days that you have the best dog, ever.  Quite simply, if we're lucky enough to have been chosen to share our lives with a dog, then we are blessed.  Because that love is some crazy insane kind of love that has all kinds of magical goodness.

There's a reason dog spelled backwards is god.  They have the key to universal unconditional love. In spades.

Thing is, so do we. Our hearts know just as dogs know. We need to unhook our minds and love like a dog.

Go on. Do it.  Love like a dog.