Pinestraw and Warm Winds

On a warm January morning, the dogs play in the pinestraw on the back deck, happily chasing their tails and ambushing each other in the morning sun. It's an odd feeling to step outside this time of year and be able to sit with a warm breeze in my face. The small brown dog runs full speed into the wind and it blows her hair back making her look like a small werewolf while the black dog runs manic circles around a pile of fallen leaves, crouching and barking non-stop. A pair of squirrels dart across the top of the back fence and both dogs give instant chase, vocalizing at the top of their lungs and moving at racehorse speed across the yard - other dogs join in and soon the entire street is alive with a chorus of howling and yipping, all in different tones and timbres and it becomes a Sunday morning symphony, each dog knowing his part and joining in with a canine kind of harmony.

Every time you leave a dog, my daddy told me, it thinks you're never coming back. That's why they're always so happy to see you. True or not, it was a heartbreaking thing to think about and it worried me for years. We had two dogs then - a rotund black and tan daschound named Fritz and a petite, trim, energetic boxer named Lady.

They were inseparable and the best of friends, both gently good natured and playful, affectionate animals full of life and love. One grim October night at supper, a nurse from the old age home two doors down rang our doorbell to tell us that Fritz had been hit by a car. My daddy raced outside, stopping only long enough to forbid me to follow. That moment is still frozen in my memory, partly because I knew in my heart that Fritz was dead, and partly because I remember nothing else after except crying myself to sleep that night and many others. Lady never quite recovered and refused to be comforted. For months she prowled the house, whining softly when she came upon his scent and relentlessly searching each room over and over again. She grieved restlessly and for a very long time, becoming old before her years and never fully accepting the loss.

There are times when I know exactly how she felt.