Poop from Beyond

I can't believe 2009 is here. It's the first year I finally feel grounded in a long time. Little Bird is here. Kevin has a job that he loves. Mallory is safely navigating her way through middle school. It feels like I finally might be able to move forward on some of my own goals that have been on the back burner. Songs. CD's. Music that has been playing in my head for only me.

That made me sound a little crazy. Which is probably pretty accurate.

We picked up the two big dummies from the kennel today. Aja, the English Setter, was aloof as usual. She had been given a bath today and was much more interested in being admired than she was showing us any hint that she had missed us.

Gibson, on the other hand, was a bouncing 90 pound bundle of nervous joy. Kevin said that when they removed his collar at the kennel last week, Gibson leaned into his leg and looked up as if to ask, "What did I do? I promise to be good." It was just a little over a year ago that we adopted him from the Wilson County Animal Shelter. A big beautiful Chocolate Lab, just sitting in a cage with no family. I might have been 36 weeks pregnant, but I didn't even consider saying "no" when Kevin suggested that Gibson come home with us.

The Setter has been Mallory's dog since the day they met. She loves that little girl. Or, perhaps she loves the little girl's bed. Either way, when Mallory comes home to us, the Setter actually gets off the couch to greet her. That's way more than me or Kevin ever get from her.

Gibson is Kevin's dog, although I'm working on staking a claim now too. For the first couple of months he lived with us, he would lay at the front door and whine when Kevin would leave for work. He has some pretty severe separation anxiety issues that we have finally worked through, but I still called the kennel multiple times to check on him while we were gone.

Chelsea, my sweet girl, was of course my dog. For 14 years, she and I were completely inseparable. This Christmas, there were so many times when I looked for her. I couldn't be in the kitchen without looking down to see if Chelsea just "cleaned the floor" for me. The stocking for the pups was missing the annual pink spikey football toy that I always found for Chelsea. It was all just a little sad for me.

Today, we were taking down the tree in the dining room. If just for a moment, my Chelsea was right back with me. For in the corner of the dining room, behind the tree, where only Chelsea could have squeezed, was a little pile of dried up dog poop.

I wasn't sure if I should be completely grossed out or so very sad that I would never clean up after Chelsea ever again. So I cried as I picked up the pile of shit.

That's my girl. Sending little gifts from beyond, just to let me know she's alright. Or, I suppose you could just look at it as a pile of petrified poo. Poo from across the Rainbow Bridge.

Someone is going to think this is funny with me. At least one person. I hope.