Her pedigree name is Brown Eyed Susan the Golden Scout but we call her Scout, for Scout Finch. She's eleven months old now and weighs about fifty pounds but she's no more coordinated than she was at six weeks, eight pounds. She's forever crashing into the coffee table and tumbling down the stairs. This morning I found her roaming the woods trailing the forty foot lead that normally has her latched to the garden fence. Hopefully my neighbors missed the sight a fifty year old woman roaming the woods in her moose pajamas!
We're all back inside trying to warm up now and I'm thinking about how hard it is to be be a grown up human being too. How everything that broke my heart as a child still does. I saw a dead cat and cried for hours. I read When Hitler Stole Pink Rabbit and lost my admiration for adults in general. My own grandpa got cancer. Our next door neighbors' house burned down. A girl in eighth grade died. And while not one such thing can surprise me now I handle them no better. The kid still in me trips and stumbles and feels forever sideways in the world, wanting to bolt but having nowhere else to go.
The puppy curls tail to nose and falls asleep. Naps are her single solution to every stressful situation. She relaxes, closes her eyes and sighs the deepest sigh. As if she trusts the universe to right itself or, at least, do without her for just a little while.
We are a funny set of characters, we mammals. More alike than feels right to suggest but funny all the same. As it happens Scout's now pacing the room crying pitifully over a deer out front. Within a minute she'll be hysterical and in five more she'll be sound asleep again. I pray the day fills your heart and brings you peace in proper measure. ~ peace & prayers, pastor annette