I love

My husband. 

There really is no other person I’d rather spend my time with.  He is my best friend.  If there is such a person as a soul mate, you are looking at mine.

My Ginger.

Ginger is a pound puppy.  I found her when I went to the kennel in search of a lab to hike with my husband and I.  She is a Carolina dog, a rare breed indigenous to southern area of the eastern coast.  This photo was taken after a backpacking trip.  She’s enjoying a little snooze.  She’s very tired.  This is because she leaps, growls and attempts to chase anything and everything that moves in the woods.  Not a great hiking companion, but otherwise a great love.

Ginger joined us approximately 7.5 years ago.  She despises the UPS delivery man, but makes up for it by hitting me with her paw every morning, promptly at 4:50 am.  I haven’t found her alarm clock, but I know she has one hidden somewhere.

My couch potato. 

He’s a rather large couch potato.  A retired greyhound, and he takes that retirement quite seriously.  Sam is a gentle boy, unless you are near his food bowl when there is food in it.  Then, not so gentle. 

Sam entered our lives about a year and half after Ginger, an owner surrender due to military deployment.  I found Sam when I went to the kennel in search of the lab I did not get when I went looking the first time, and came home with Ginger instead.  As it turns out, Sam hates to hike.  As a matter of fact, if he could talk, I believe he would term hiking “despicable”–or at least that is how I interpret the very dirty looks we get when we’ve taken him on a few short trips.

Festivus, for the rest of us.

Festivus, for the rest of us.

Festie adopted us about six months ago, wandering onto our property and into our hearts.  I am not sure where he came from, but it doesn’t matter.  I’m sure he was heaven sent. 

About a month prior to Festie’s arrival, a near look-a-like cat showed up.  I found him outside in my studio, sniffling and sneezing a bit, but not wary of humans.  I came home at lunch.  The grey cat, suffering from mere cold-like symptoms before I left for work that morning, was now beginning to look sickly.

I could do nothing at that moment, having to return to my office for a meeting.  But I did leave early that day, only to find the desperate feline wheezing and hacking.  I called the local vet, bundled up the little lost soul, and put him next to me on the front seat of the car.  His wheezing increased, and he began to hack and choke.  The veterinarian’s office is only about five miles from our home, but our little friend without a name took his last gasp of air right in front of me, in my vehicle, as I pulled into the long drive leading to the vet’s office.  I was hysterical.  It was the first time I’d seen life evaporate to death, right before my eyes.  How quickly things turned, in a matter of hours, from a little furry creature with a runny nose, to a lifeless form who spoke his final choking scream with a human he did not know.  What a horribly helpless feeling.

The vets were very kind, attempting to console and comfort me.  They offered to take care of the now expired cat.  I opted to return home with him for a decent burial.  And Festie showed up several weeks later, I’m sure, to pay his respects.

That’s it for the skin and fur folks living in the house–but there are two other skin family and one other fur child to show you.

This is my stepdaughter and her new husband.These newlyweds are two of the kindest individuals you will ever meet.  I am honored to be included as their family and grateful they accept me as a member.  I have rarely had a friend with whom I can laugh and giggle as much as Amanda.  She and Joel are old and joyful souls.

And finally, Miss Daisy.

Miss Daisy is a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel.  This is her baby picture.  She is now two years old.  I purport that she is actually a cat that barks, since one of my dogs is about 55 lbs and the other is close to 100.  Daisy weighs in at about 15, tops.  She is the only one who doesn’t seem to know she’s just little.