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Wednesday, February 19, 2020

The Dog Whisperer and Jesus

My canine friend is very strong.   We're just walking along with me holding his leash and then all of a sudden he about jerks my arm out of its socket  because he catches the scent of EVERYTHING, most likely another dog.  I don't talk a lot because mostly I'm thinking and one can't really carry on a conversation with an animal.  But, lately, I am saying to him, "I think I will talk to you because you're a really good listener and because humans (which I pronounced as 'hoomans') suck. "

He's very stubborn. Today, we were walking by this house where a man was loading his car with his luggage and the dog was just fascinated by the process.  The man kept looking at us and smiling, but it looked odd and felt creepy. Perhaps the dog thought he would take him on a trip with him if he approached him, but I held his collar so he  couldn't take off toward the guy.  I tried coaxing him and then pulling him to keep continuing on our walk.  The dog and all of his 85 pounds resisted by sitting down, something he rarely does especially on command. Pffft.  So much for his obedience training. Finally, the guy left in his car and we moved on, but I admonished the dog gently, "You know, you're not supposed to want to meet everyone.  Not everybody likes big dogs.  Many people are crabby.  Besides, you're supposed to be protecting me, not  dragging me toward danger."  And then I leaned down just a bit and whispered to him, "Don't you know a serial killer when you see one?"   GEEZE.    Perhaps I shouldn't have watched that Ted Bundy special on  20/20 last week......  or read my very first Stephen King novel recently, or watch Snapped, Killer Couples and Forensic Files before I fall asleep at night.   Ya think?   I can't  believe that dog tried to pull me toward a suspicious man with an open trunk and a large rolling suitcase!

He continued to walk, stop, pull, lower his head to the ground and tow me.  "You're not Balto, you know," I say as he drags me into a snowbank so he can sniff the yellow snow of all dogs that have gone before.  "You're having a lemonade snow cone, huh, buddy?"  Gross.

On the way back home, we pass the pond in our subdivision where I used to fish sometimes out of sheer boredom.  Even though it's just a retention pond, there are signs that say no swimming and fishing, but that doesn't stop anyone from the fishing part.  Some of the guys in the neighborhood caught several large mouth bass from a nearby lake and then put them in there for the kids to catch and release.   I did not know this until I caught several myself and they had tags in their fins for you to report online the date and serial number of when you caught it.   So the first time I got a huge fish, I was shocked.   There are little fish in there like blue gil, but no way would there ever be anything bigger unless someone put them there.

 I have permission to fish in our neighbor's yard, but THEIR next door neighbor hates it when anybody fishes there period.   Two years ago, he came out SCREAMING at me, swearing, because my dad stepped briefly in his yard.  He was a really big jerk.  He told me he didn't want people around his house because he likes to walk around in his underwear.  Good grief, I am fishing, idiot, not looking in your windows hoping to catch you in your tighty whities or playing Christian Grey with Ana and Leila trapped in there, although I don't care if the rotting corpse of Elena is in there at all!!  So he just kept screaming at me and my dad.   My dad looked at him strangely, "This really bothers you that much, huh?" as he cast out his line out again and the bobber  hit the water with a nice sounding plop!  Laughing.  And then my dad looks at him like he's nuts, "You're going to give yourself a heart attack getting all upset like that."  Another casual cast.  Meanwhile he's lecturing me about standing in his neighbor's yard with my backpack and 1 fishing pole like I'm destroying property or something when a guy several yards away takes his son out in the pond to test his new kayak.  Laughing.  If you're wondering what my response was to all his screaming and swearing, I just kept up a calm demeanor and repeated, "I don't care."   And because of what was going on in my life at the time, I just wanted a little time out by the water for some peace and quiet.  Well, he ruined that.  (The bible says that a soft answer turns away wrath.  Pffft, not if it is quietly clear to both the jerk and myself that when I am saying I don't care, I really mean I don't give a flying f***!   HA!)

So back to the dog and our walk.  I looked at the pond that finally froze over this late into winter and saw either a great blue heron or a great green heron, I don't know or care, but I pointed out toward the bird and said to the dog, "Look!  There's Jesus.  He's walking on the water."   I think even God himself may have chuckled at that one.
Not my house, yard, fence, or dog.  Yes, those are my shoes. 




Sunday, February 16, 2020

Is it love?

I wonder what love looks like from different points of view.
Do others see it n the way that I often do?

Does it look like two young people each wearing Letterman's jackets, holding hands in the movie theater?  And does it smell like a sweet and salty combination of buttery popcorn and Reese's Pieces?   Or  does it feel like thin, cheap, and greasy napkins?  Is love the cup holder that hugs a Diet Coke?  ;)

Does it look like older folks or middle aged people walking arm in arm at the tired end of a visit to their local farmer's market?  And does it smell like a combination of that which they just bought from the fishmonger and the flower cart?

Does it look and feel like newlyweds reaching for one another in the middle of the night to make passionate love?

Or is it the surrendering kind of love making at 2 a.m. by a long time married couple who are exhausted and beat up by the contagious ugliness of many people in this world.  Though they were both keeping careful watch, a little bit of chaos bore into their own  precious 2'gether-4'ever bubble..... The fires of trouble and doubt extinguish when meaty flesh enters soft flesh.  Is it love that lingers when only the scent of their fire-brings-new-life kind of sex remains?

Is it something more innocent such as that thing that started off decades ago at the roller rink, her long hair flowing backwards, his accelerated blood-flow pulsing, weaving, and pulling them through the throng of hormones and pheromones in sinusoidal patterns.  White knuckled, they're holding hands when he officially asks her to be his girlfriend.  Is  it love when her "yes" is then recorded among the invisible mental list of things that might occur in high school, but does not end with torn photo booth pictures soaked in lighter fluid by one angry graduate the following summer?

Or is it when one humbly crawls up against her husband and softly weeps while he silently sleeps?  Is it the instant he awakens and wraps his arms around her tighter than she ever remembers and he whispers huskily in her ear, "I've got you, Babe. Stay close to me."  It has all been said before this moment.  Understanding is now felt instead of spoken.   Is her part a kind of submission while his part a protective form of dominance?  It feels like it, but all I know for sure is that it's deeply rooted in the home of When the Storm Whispers to the Wind -- where love endures all things.

I see that love can taste sweet and salty, appear weathered or new, burn brightly or burn out, feel dry or sweaty, and be administered with both ease and great difficulty and everything in between.

I wonder what love looks like from your points of view.
Do you see it here in the way that I do?