He Loved Me More Than Food

I have always loved animals. Growing up, it seemed like there was always a furry friend living in our house, so it seemed natural when I was older to have pets. My first dog was a Golden Retriever who I promptly named Clifford, after one of my favorite children's books, Clifford the Big Red Dog. He was a college graduation gift from my husband, Ben, and I was faced with the responsibility of taking care of a new puppy. He was the biggest puppy in the litter and was a deep, dark red. When he was older, many of times people would ask if he was an Irish Setter.

Little did I know the responsibility I would be faced with! Ben and I worked with him taking him to puppy classes to socialize him, always trying to do the right thing so we would have a well-behaved dog.

After having Clifford for a year, we went to the local anti-cruelly society to drop off some donations. Since I wear my heart on my sleeve, I decided to wait in the car. Within minutes, Ben returned and informed me that he couldn't resist the temptation of looking at the adoptable dogs. He told me about a light-color golden retriever named Buster, who was being fed hot dogs since it would be his last day before he would be euthanized, due to lack of space at the shelter. Of course, we headed back in and promptly adopted the affectionate dog, who we renamed Biscuit.

Sadly, Clifford developed kidney disease around the time he turned three. Our veterinarian tried for a few weeks to save him, but the most humane thing to do would be to end his short life. I was sad to let him go, and returning home to see Biscuit without his companion in tow, was difficult, but I knew it was for the best.

Biscuit was a wonderful dog to have with three small children. I still remember when my youngest was teething and decided to climb upon Biscuit who was sleeping and chew on his ear. As I turned around and saw what was happening, I was fearful Biscuit might snap at my small toddler. Biscuit looked at me with his big brown eyes, whimpered a small sound and didn't move. He was the most gentle dog I have ever seen.

Of course, it was heartbreaking to see him age. I would help him up the stairs when he could no longer walk, and spent many nights sleeping on the living room floor by his side. Eventually, I was faced with the decision of ending his life humanely.

About a year after Biscuit died, even in a house surrounded by three children, I was lonely for a dog. I searched for a new puppy to join our family and I applied to a Golden Retriever rescue society and because of my experience with Goldens, I was fortunate to be moved to the top of the list to adopt a puppy. Although we had to drive to the other side of the state, with three small children, we all immediately fell in love with the last puppy remaining. Of course, like my first dog, this dog was the largest in the litter and his foster family named him Fatty.

I always liked the name Carson, after the author Carson McCullers, and since I wasn't brave enough to give the name to one of my children, bestowed the name upon our new puppy.

Carson was such a sweet dog. As he aged, he mellowed out like all Golden Retrievers do, and spent many hours curled up in a chair in my foyer. Once I proclaimed that Carson loved me more than food. Of course, my husband put it to the test and my friend, Carson, didn't let me down. He turned to me and did what I loved about him.

He hugged me.

He would push himself as close as he could to me, and look up at me with his knowing eyes. Yes, Carson loved me more than food.

I could sense his time with me was getting shorter over the past year. The look in his eyes changed and once he was diagnosed with bone cancer, I knew the time we had together would soon end. Although I loved my first dog, Clifford, and his companion,Biscuit, Carson was the most special dog to me.

As I was by his side at the end of his life, I whispered to him that we would see each other again. He looked up at me with his amber eyes, and I believe he understood. At that point I knew, Carson would hug me again someday.

Something to Think About

"Life begins at the end of your comfort zone."

Heart Stone Park

My youngest son, Benjamin, and I share a love of walking the beach for hours collecting rocks and shells. He and I have spent countless hours scouring the shoreline for bits of nature worthy of taking home. One thought both he and I share, is to to be very selective of the pieces we chose.

We both agree not every rock or shell is worthy of bringing home just because it catches your eye on the shore. Although over the years we both have collected buckets and pocketfuls of rocks and shells, we always take the time to evaluate the collection, only selecting ones we truly want to bring home.

Even then, few rocks and shells actually make it into the house. Of course, we have our share of petosky stones and bits of blue slag from Lake Michigan, along with a decent sea shell collection including starfish and sand dollars from the Outer Banks. We love the bottles of sand we have scooped up from the many beaches we have visited together. However, nothing compares to the find he made one day along the shores of Lake Michigan.

We were scouring the beach at a park when he was so excited to show me his find for the day - a beautiful rock in the shape of a heart. Proudly, he brought the rock home and we framed it in a shadow box placing it on the mantel. Every time I look at it, I remember the small boy who brought the rock to me. To this day, when we are up north, he still refers to the park as Heart Stone Park.

We both laugh because somewhere along the way, we agreed that we like to think if we throw the mediocre rocks and shells back to the water, we will be rewarded with an even better find. I think the best reward is the the memories he and I share of our walks on the beach.

Romeo and Juliet

Today, my middle child, Andrew, told me he would be reading Romeo and Juliet in his freshman honor's English class. We talked about how the play is one of the most quoted of Shakespeare's plays. Because his older sister had the same class with the same teacher two years ago, he is pretty familiar with the curriculum.

Andrew and I laughed when we talked about how he and his siblings took me to Gnomeo and Juliet on my birthday. After the movie was over, they looked at me and said "Why did you want to see this? It was awful!" My daughter and I have watched the 1968 and 1996 versions of Romeo and Juliet multiple times, and as tragic as the story, how can you not get light-headed thinking of the love they shared?

Yes, references to Romeo and Juliet are so abound in popular culture, and I would like to make a CD with all the songs referring to the star-crossed lovers. Quite a few songs are already on my IPod with references to the tragic lovers.

Of course, like many romantics, my favorite scene in the play is Capulet's Orchard, but for now, I can only reflect on my one of my favorite quotes:

Good night, good night! parting is such sweet sorrow,
That I shall say good night till it be morrow.

Sigh. How can that not make your heart pitter-patter?

My Forever Friend

Little Teddy has been with me forever. I inherited him from my uncle when I was maybe five years old. He is about eight inches tall and has experienced many grand adventures. Little Teddy is certainly my velveteen rabbit.

Once in our youth, Little Teddy and I went swimming in the ocean. I lost him, and my sister found him washed up on the shore. Tragedy struck when I was much older, and Little Teddy was enjoying the companionship of my daughter. She left him on the floor and our new puppy, Carson, decided to have a playdate with Little Teddy. When the date was over, Little Teddy required major surgery with an ear and foot transplant. Of course, a few years later, my youngest son was sad that Little Teddy didn't have any eyes, and an online search for the perfect pair resulted in a new pair of brown eyes.

Yes, Little Teddy, you are my forever friend, flaws and all.

My Caterpillar Tree

When I was very young, my mom always took my sister and I to the library. For some reason, I have very few vivid memories from my childhood, but I do remember going to the library.

I remember the wood furniture and the card catalogs filled with the secret location of the books. I remember the musty smell of the room, and the stillness, and the quiet I love so much. I remember Charlotte's Web was high on the shelf, but my most vivid memory is the location of one book.

I would walk straight ahead and there was a covered bench. On the low book shelves I would search for my favorite book, The Very Hungry Caterpillar by Eric Carle. I remember the happy feeling when I found the book on the shelf, and I would huddle on the floor next to the bench mesmerized by the bright collages, and the way the caterpillar worked his way through the book.

When my children were born, I wrote to Eric Carle and shared with him my story. He was kind enough to sign the books I sent to him for my children, and sign my copy of the The Art of Eric Carle. He even drew me a caterpillar.

So it shouldn't come as a surprise that the library is a haven for me. When I die, I would love a tree planted for me outside a library, and I would hope caterpillars would build cocoons in the branches.

Lists to Contain My Dreams

I confess.

I am a closet list writer.

Friends, who know me well, know I absolutely despise making “to do lists.” Seems like such a waste of time, when I already know what needs to get done, so why should I write it down? For me, making a “to do list” does not help me organize my thoughts, it usually only muddles them. And if you know me, God knows I don’t need to muddle my thoughts any more than they already are!

However, back to my confession, I secretly love to make different types of lists. Some of my current lists include:

Songs to put on my IPod
Books to read
Blog Ideas
Movies to Watch
Countries to Visit Someday
Stories to Write
Things to tell (fill in a name)
Quotes to Remember
Things to Write in My Journal
Things to Learn to Do

Sometimes they are elaborate, and sometimes they are written on post it notes. Even in this electronic age, I still prefer to put pen to paper, all the while doodling on my lists. Many of the lists are only dreams for me, but putting them on paper makes them real.

Who needs a list to remind them what to do in a day? I need lists to contain my dreams.