Throwaways

November announces its arrival with dark skies and torrential rainfall. The small brown dog paws her way beneath the blankets and huddles against me for warmth, a gentle reminder that it's time to turn on the heating pad in her kennel and sort through her winter wardrobe of sweaters. She doesn't understand about the seasons and knows only that yesterday was sunny and warm and today is not. We did not celebrate her birthday this year as Halloween fell during the Great Tooth Debacle - I owe her a celebration.

I can't quite comprehend that she is seven now while the black dog is approaching thirteen. The time in between has passed like a quick rush of wind, hardly noticed but leaving its mark. A black muzzle has started to gray and there are now several false starts before she can make the jump to the bed. She has mellowed no more than a degree or two and slowed down even less - still the first at the door at the first noise, still loving the chase, still frantic and wild and hyper active - her spirit cannot be tamed. The little one has become a shade or two more timid but lost none of her sweetness or need to be loved. She still cowers at the slightest suggestion of a harsh word and can have her feelings hurt far too easily, running to me at the first sign of threat from the new kittens, an anxious eyed little creature incapable of raising the first paw in self defense. From first sight, how these little throwaways have taken my heart.

Perhaps it's my natural need to be needed or the part of all us that seeks love and acceptance, maybe it's being able to trust them with a secret or the comfort they bring or never having to justify myself - maybe it's just something in their small faces that pulls at my soul - but I sometimes wonder if I don't need them more than they need me.