I’ll do the NSA rant next week. Let’s just say that if you think it’s “meta-data” and no harm can really come from it if you are above board, or that they don’t have your entire data history ready to poach, you need to detox before reading any more stuff on the internet. ’nuff said for now.
Because it’s just too horrible to go on about the currently emerging tyranny that we’ve sold ourselves into, I’d like to write about Stormy.
For the last few weeks I’ve been home healing from surgery. During that time my stand-as-far-from-the-bearded-guy-as-you-can dog has been inching closer and closer to not just tolerating me, more than slightly liking me, perhaps loving me as her position. I’ve been very careful to keep it low key.
I know that she needs low key. And sometimes I blow her mind a bit by scooping her into my lap and just holding her close. She is warm, calm, and smells wonderful. Yes, I like the smell of dogs – wet or dry. Their scent evokes a very deep response in my brain – safety and love.
I’ve been a “dog guy” since I was a “dog boy” in my youth. Some of my fondest memories involve just hanging out with my canine companions. Perhaps it’s because I’m a bit of an animal in my behavior. I’m crude, rude, bark loudly, and … I am housebroken. I relate to my dogs on a level that “owners” never quite get in their souls. I live with dogs, I don’t own dogs.
I’m not an animal rights nut by any means. I have not signed a DNR with my dog getting to make the decision on when to euthanize me. I don’t even let my wife make that decision. Come to think of it, most days I’m safer with the dog holding that power – they don’t remember what I jerk I was in my twenties. She does.
But, I digress. The fact is that the little things have been changing with Stormy in the last few months and the process has rapidly stepped up the pace in the last fortnight. She has been coming around for love. Just simple pets on the head, checking up on me, hopping up next to me on the couch, hopping up on the bed, asking for tummy rubs when I wander through the room, and generally being far more amenable to my presence.
We broke the comfort/need barrier this last week. In the midst of a very loud thunderstorm she sought me out and jumped on the bed while I was reading. She was afraid of the storm (ironic given her name.) She could have stayed with my wife but she came to me. I am the pack leader. I am the strong one. I am the one she chose.
She still likes my wife better, but when the crucial moment of an existential threat came around – it was me she sought out. I almost cried.
Thursday night we hopped the next-to-last hurdle in our love affair. The picture was taken while we played on the carpet. She actually played with me for a long time. She came to where I was stretched out, plopped down, and offered her paws to play a game of paddy-cake. We played for quite a while. I’d stroke her strong legs, rub those little paws, and tap my fingers on the rug.
And then the magic moment came – she nuzzled my fingers and licked them. It was the first time (without peanut butter or chicken being involved) in our time together. It was tentative but most definitely affectionate.
Some day in the future I will write about the first lick on the face. That’s still down the road a bit. But it’s coming. I know that prayer will be answered. She’s healing. I’m healing. I still miss Maisie, but this one has carved her own place in my heart. I love her dearly. Her name is Stormy and she’s the rainbow in my opinion.