Love Is A Funny Thing [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

Not only is his muzzle turning grey but in a surprise color change, the black of his mane is slowly becoming rich auburn. Our Aussie pup never ceases to amaze me. He is a tricolor pup after all.

We are staying close to home these days. He has good days and he has bad days. On a good day you’d swear he was a puppy. On a bad day we fear that the end is near. It’s not unusual for him to have a bad morning and an hour later to be in full vibrant-dog mode. The uncertainty is what keeps us close to home.

True love is a funny thing. It is certain. As his days become more uncertain, our love rises and it is unwavering. Much of what might have seemed important, much of what would have previously pulled us from home or taken space in our hearts and minds, no longer matters. He is the single measure of whether we stay or go. His needs are the unapologetic organizing principle of our days. Improvisation is our only plan.

On humid days he groans when he lays down. We groan when we stand up. “We know how you feel, Dogga!” we chirp in unison.

All his life he’s been a terrible walker. It’s been impossible to teach him to walk with us, to stay by our side. As an Aussie, he believes his job is to protect us or to clear the way for us. He is most comfortable and happy walking ten feet in front of us. We could comfortably take him on trails but walks in the neighborhood have been problematic. I call him “sled dog” since he pulls our arms out of the socket to fulfill his mission. Once he’s ten feet ahead of us, the pulling stops and the protecting begins. Lately, however, he’s become the perfect walker. He and I are growing older together and I’ve been surprised that as more auburn appears in his mane and grey in his muzzle, he wants to be by my side. His job has changed and so has mine. I am now his protector.

It occurred to me that he has cleared our path in more ways than one. He’s shown us the way through some fairly dark passages. Sometimes I think the only reason we made it through is because he was clearing our path, making us aware of our fears even before we knew we were afraid. Dogga can see storms coming. He runs to the bathroom, his safe spot. We’ve become expert at mitigating the gathering clouds in our inner landscape when Dogga heads to the bathroom. “Dogga’s in the bathroom. What’s up?” For two people who believe that they are self-aware, it’s been remarkable to have a dog capable of expanding our self-awareness.

“He’s preparing us,” Kerri said, after his latest bad day. We both began to weep

“I know.” Clearing our path. Guiding us through this passage.

Love is a funny thing.

(Today we celebrate. 13 years ago today we drove onto a farm where a little fur ball puppy stole our hearts. He came home with us. He still holds our hearts captive and we couldn’t be more grateful.)

read Kerri’s blogpost about DOGGA

likesharecommentsupportthankyou!

Return To The Origin [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

On the way home from Minnesota we drove the river road. We pulled over several times to gape with awe at the Mississippi River. We marveled at the bluffs and searched the sky for eagles.

It was more than a scenic choice. It was an intentional return to our origin story. When we packed up my life in Seattle and moved it to Wisconsin, we entered the state through the river road. Kerri wanted it to be the portal to my new home. We stopped in the little town of Stockholm just as we had eleven years ago. We visited the same shop that caught our eye on that day in the past. The shop has since passed on to the owner’s daughter. She’s making it her own. She told us that the metal sculptors we’d admired, the reason we originally stopped, were retiring. It was getting too hard for their hands to do the work.

Just beyond Stockholm we pulled off the road to get some photos of Farmer Don’s place. Tripper-Dog-Dog-Dog’s birthplace. We hoped there’d still be a sign for “Aussie Pups” so we could stop and tell Farmer Don how much we love our Dogga. There was no sign and it looked as if the farm had changed owners. The driveway into the farm and the white fences were the same. We took photos. We sat in the car and recounted the story of the day we got a dog when we didn’t mean to get a dog. We whispered a quiet “thank you” to Farmer Don.

We pulled off the road a few minutes later to get another view of the Mississippi River. Timeless. I imagined I heard the voice of the river. It was akin to the low rumble of a didgeridoo.

The stores have changed hands. Old buildings are restored and new shops are constructed. Farmer Don is most likely no longer with us. He was older and not in good health that day in the past, when he needed to find a good home for a puppy that no one wanted, and two strangers driving a Budget truck saw his sign and decided to stop. I suspect he knew that stop would change their lives.

The names on the political signs lining the outskirts of the villages are different. We are different after eleven years. So much life, or so it seems. So much water under the bridge. A blink of an eye to the river.

The opportunity to return and relish our origin story. To travel through time. For us it was as simple as taking a drive along the road runs beside the mighty river.

read Kerri’s blog about THE RIVER

The day we met Dogga

like. share. support. subscribe. comment…thank you!

Joy All The Way Around [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

Although he is mostly black, our Australian Shepherd, like most Aussie’s, is tricolor. In addition to black, he sports rich copper and white fur patches. His eyes are auburn, lively and penetrating. Again, like most Aussies, he makes great eye contact because is always on the look-out to be one-step-ahead of our next move.

One step ahead.

I grew frustrated when he was a puppy and we were attempting to train him to walk with us. He could not, would not, walk by our side. Instead, he pulled-like-a-sled-dog to be in front of us. He seemed impossible to train. And then, one day, on a walk in a forest preserve, we let him off the leash and he raced ten paces ahead of us. He was delighted and kept exactly ten paces ahead of us. The penny dropped in my slow-on-the-uptake-mind. His job, his very reason for being, is to clear our way. To keep us safe. It’s not something he thinks about or intends, it’s in his DNA.

It has become a source of great joy to open the backdoor and watch his delight, racing out in front of me to clear the yard of potential marauders. Taking out the trash has become one of my favorite things. My Dogga has my back. He has our backs. Being one step ahead of us is his job, his purpose, his reason for being. Our well-being is his well-spring of joy.

It’s funny to me now, how he has become one of my great teachers in the art of non-resistance. I thought I was trying to teach him to walk-on-a-leash and, in truth, he was trying to teach me how to better walk in life. How to get off my leash and out of my tug-of-war. How much better is life once I ceased trying to bend him to my will and learned to listen to and lean into his gifts!

This is what I’ve learned from Dogga’s teaching: there is joy all the way around.

read Kerri’s blogpost about DOGGA PAW

like. share. support. subscribe. comment. many thanks!

Trouble Love [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

In a surprise twist, Dogga now answers to the name, “Trouble”. It could that in his old age his alter ego is ascendant.

He’s always had two distinct personalities. During the daylight hours, in constant movement, running endless circles, we call him “Crazy Boy”. At night, he is distinctly different, calm and quiet; we call him “Sweet Boy”.

I can’t recall how we discovered his alter ego. One minute he was Crazy Boy and the next he was responding to Kerri’s call, “Trouble!” We performed a specificity-check and called him other names. He rolled his eyes and refused to respond. “Here Trouble!” brought an immediate running-wag-a-wag response. “I think his name is Trouble!” she said.

“What took us so long?” I asked.

We wondered if originally Farmer Don called him Trouble, and perhaps, after 11 years, we were just discovering his real name. Farmer Don needed to find a home for him and no one wanted him because he was, unusual for an Aussie puppy, mostly black. We imagined Farmer Don saying, “You’re my little Trouble-Dog!”

These days Dogga né Trouble complains when he doesn’t get his way. He groans (like me) when he lifts himself from the floor. He snores at night. He licks the achy joints on his front legs. He is, no matter his name, our Trouble, our Crazy Boy, our Sweet Boy, our Dogga-Dog. We are infinitely richer for the daily sweet trouble that he brings us.

read Kerri’s blogpost about TROUBLE

subscribe. support. like. share. comment. many thanks!

Love Your World [David’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab]

It’s simple. Dogga wants to be where we are. He reads us like a book. He anticipates our every move and makes certain our passage is clear of marauders.

He does not split himself in confusion. He does not hold onto the past. He never worries about the future. He is all in, every moment. His happiness is sourced in our happiness. When we are on opposite sides of the house he places himself directly between us.

Last night, we watched him struggle to get up from the floor. We caught each other’s eyes, said nothing. I remembered the moment, years ago at farmer Don’s farm, that the little Aussie puppy ran to us and sat at our feet. He chose us. In that moment, we became his whole world and I do not exaggerate to write that he became ours, too. We chose him. Our whole world.

read Kerri’s blogpost about DOGGA

what you can do: like. share. support. comment. thank you for any or all.

smack- dab. © 2023 kerrianddavid.com

buymeacoffee is a donation “tip jar” where you support the continued work of the artists you value.