The other day seemed like the first day of spring -- or rather, the first day of spring-like weather, nearly 60 degrees, and yes, we have earned it, through it may be an illusion. It was the first day warm enough to sit on the deck with a book. I'm battling a cold and hoping the sun will banish my symptoms.
Lucy, our blind dog, keeps me company. Despite her disability, she has mastered her environment. I love watching her navigate the steps. She uses her muzzle and her paw to determine where they start. Then she descends, front paws first, then hind legs. The effort gives her an endearing waddle, and with her tail up, she's the canine equivalent of the back end of a 747.
We grew up with dogs, and I always loved them. Not all of them lived to "doggy dotage." Our mother, though not really an "animal person," developed a close bond with Princess, a cocker spaniel so sweet the people who gave her to us wanted her back the same day. Too late. We loved her from the very start.
When the Queen took out the broom, it was Princess's cue to hop on, and the two of them would waltz around the kitchen. I don't believe our mother ever loved a dog the way she loved that one.
Princess matured, and thanks to the constant treats, she gained weight. Our mother dubbed her "the horse." She and my father seldom took trips together, but they did spend a weekend at Grossingers, a famous Catskill resort catering to a Jewish clientele.
It was a stormy weekend, and Fran and I were left at home. Our mother called us from one of the very public pay phones. "Girls, be sure to bring the horse in the house." I'm sure eyebrows were raised, but knowing our mother, I'm certain no explanation was given.
Barbara
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