Rescued

     Dixie snores. Loudly. And wants to sleep on my bed. Preferably in my bed, under the covers, with her head on my shoulder, only that flat, damp nose showing.

    She's a rescue dog, so I let her that first night, poor thing. That's how I thought of her--"poor thing" with a noticeable limp, and an ability to purr like a cat when you pet her.

    Okay, the dog doesn't have that inner motor that cats perfected eons ago. Her purr is more of a moan, a grumbly, smoothed out moan of contentment, bordering on happiness. How can I resist happiness?

    So, I let her sleep with me. She's a rescue dog, right? And this is me being noble, kind, compassionate--all those qualities I admire and aspire to. A pet lover. A dog lover, aka a good person.

    She's my first dog--probably destined to be my only dog ever, but nobody ever mentioned slobber to me when extolling the virtues of their "best friend." Or snoring. Who knew that dogs snored? Or peeing in the middle of the night, whining until I get up--well, I'm awake anyway because of the snoring--so I get up and let her out

    I made a list, ready to show it to anybody who asks how Dixie is doing. (NO, I didn't name her that--she was already named when I got her. I tried changing it to Ethel, but she only comes when I holler "Dixie.")

    Well, I suppose having a dog named Dixie isn't the worst thing. Too cute for my taste, but I've never been accused of being cute, so I can get over that...and she is really very,  very...attractive...for a canine.  

    Yes. Okay. I like Dixie, but I won't be one of those dog owners who go on and on about their dog all the time so stop me after I tell you what she did just this morning....she was so cute, adorable really, when....                

Just in Time

"Why is that bird staring at me?"

        "What bird?"

"The one in the trees."

"There are a lot of trees out there."

Which was true. They were in a cabin in the woods--A hovel, he had said.

A rustic retreat, she had said, and held up her phone. "Look at the descriptions again. 'Retreat to the tall woods to find beauty, discover nature, and rest in the calm and mystery of nature.' So the bird is part of 'the calm and mystery of nature.'"

"Mystery just about says it. I think that bird knows me, knows something about me."

She got up then, and stood beside him at the window. "I don't see a bird."

"I told you. In the tree." He put one long arm around her, pressed his head to hers, so they were facing the same way. "There," he said. "The bird with the big eyes."

"Big eyes? Must be an owl," she said, willing to play along even though she saw only a shaggy willow bereft of visible wild life.

"Oh," he said. "That's it! A wise old owl. I should have known. Look at those eyes, how still the bird is, penetrating, almost freaky."

"No," she said, "Wise like you. That's why she's staring at you."

"How do you know it's female?"

"Ah," she said, "because she's seen you, and can't look away. Women know these things."

"You're making this up," he said.

"I don't have to," she said. "You started with the imaginary owl."

"You don't see it, do you?"

What a question. Well, no she didn't see an owl, imaginary or real, because the timer was dinging, the three-minute eggs well on their way to hard boil. "No," she said, "but the timer..."

"Look up," he shouted.

And she did look, just in time to see the bird, a giant bird, rise out of the old willow as if being released--or reborn--into another day.

"Oh!" she said. "Oh, look at that!"

"Worth a hard boiled egg?" he said.

And it was, even though he was right, again.

Miracle

Miracle

"The sun is shining."                        

    "So?"

"Well, look at it, the morning . . . "

"I'd go blind if I look at it."

"I didn't mean directly. What I'm trying to say is that every morning of our lives..."

"Did you make coffee?"

She nods. "The sun rises..."

"Doesn't actually rise, you know?"

"I know. But when I look out the window and see that glorious..."

"Where's my cup? I don't see my cup, the black one with...."

"I know. The Viking." 

She holds the cup up, pours the coffee, half a cup the way he likes it, gives it to him. "I was just thinking," she said, "that the sun is a miracle, a gift that happens...."

"Every damn day."

She nods. "I wouldn't have said damn."

"I know. That's why I said it for you. It is a miracle!"

"Really? You think so?"

"And a blessing."

She is silent for two minutes, which is a miracle. He waits. He doesn't even taste the coffee. He lets her take it in. He waits.

"It is a miracle," she says again.

He nods. "And a gift every day, freely given."

"Yes," she manages to say, "yes" and he turns away to drink his coffee so she won't know he knows his agreeing with the trite miracle of the sun moved her to tears. Job done.

"Damn good coffee," he says.

Another gift.

Warnings

    The bus was late so she was walking--fast--speed walking was one of her specialties. "Slow down," her mother had said to her, "Slow down or you'll meet yourself coming." 

     She loved that image, walked faster, and faster. She would love to meet herself coming, had imagined her picture in the newspaper, "Girl Meets Herself Coming!" or "Girl sets new record for....."     

    What would they call it, her supposedly impossible feat? Well, the phrase, Slow down or you'll meet yourself coming could be interpreted as a warning or, even worse, a criticism, but she was talented at turning faint criticism into faint praise or, even better a challenge. "Stop talking and eat." 

    She loved the corollary of that,"Don't eat with your mouth full." 

    What was she supposed to do, remove her teeth before eating? Cut out her tongue?There was a lot going on in mouths, not just in hers, and adding a bite of apple or, say, a chocolate covered nut or two was inconsequential. Ridiculous. Most rules were ridiculous. 

    Look before you leap! So you stop leaping? How boring is that? Actions speak louder than words. Absence makes the heart grow fonder. The early bird catches the worm. Two heads are better than one...which always made her laugh and imagine the speaker with two heads--another road to fame if you want to be a famous freak. So many of these so-called warnings (like the 2 head idiocy) were literally false. 

    A watched pot never boils!! That one she had tested, filled a pot with water, put it on the stove, turned up the flame, stared at it unblinkingly, and, what do you think happened after 4 minutes and 8 seconds? The water boiled!! 

    You are what you eat. No, not true! She didn't feel even faintly like a banana, her favorite fruit, her spine was not curved, her skin was a pinkish hue without the faintest blush of yellow. 

    She could go on...and often did. Every dog has it's day. What does that even mean? 

    Her all time favorite was so obviously impossible: Don't count your chickens before they hatch! Those unhatched orbs are eggs, easily countable eggs, NOT chickens, nothing to be counted. 

    That obvious truth pleased her, relaxed her, and she could let the other absurdities rest too. For now.