Pacha and Brutus no longer fit in their old coats. As I wrote recently, the coats that used to hang over the ends of their behinds now creep up their backs and look more like short-waisted jackets. After Sheila and Spartacus grew out of things (or eventually passed away), I never threw out the clothes and harnesses that were still in ‘good’ shape. As a result, every once in a while I dig into our coat closet and pull out the gigantic Zip-loc bag in which I stored them. I find treasures that both remind me of Pacha and Brutus’s predecessors, and give the pups new togs to flash about town.
We have the cold snap of last week to thank for my resurrection of these older jackets. While I did retire their reversible plaid jumpers, I vowed not to replace them with the latest fashion until the fall. So when the temperatures plunged last week, I was relieved to find I’d saved a pretty decent selection.
The photo I’m leading with tonight actually has both Brutus and Pacha wearing Sheila’s old jackets. The purple parka Brutus is wearing almost certainly won’t fit him soon either, but it’s perfect for now. Spartacus had a golden yellow jacket just like the purple one of Sheila’s – but he wore it, and beat up on it, until it literally lay in tatters. (No, I didn’t try to salvage that one!)
So Pretty in Her Ladybug Fur – Photo: L. Weikel
Ladybug Fur
Pacha’s bright red ensemble, comprised of patches of faux red fur on a black thermal material, is what we call the Ladybug Fur. Sheila wore it proudly. She stepped out with an unmistakably jaunty air whenever she wore it – and so I was especially delighted to find it fits Pacha ‘to a T.’
Yes, yes, I could’ve put it on Brutus. But the truth is, our little girl is a woman now. So last week, when that became apparent, instead of putting a red drape over their crate*, I found the Ladybug Fur. (Let me assure you, she’s still provided with the requisite privacy and ‘alone time’ she needs when Brutus, especially, is a bit too interested in this latest development.)
Some little boy had a rough day today. But there was still enough fire left in his belly to be bad!
The afternoon started out innocently enough, with Pacha and Brutus scheduled for their second Lyme vaccination just after lunch. So we headed up to the vet’s office and managed to get there uneventfully. In fact, they seem to relish car rides.
They both clocked in with weight gains that have been impressive with every single visit to the vet. This time Brutus was just shy of 16 lbs. (15. 9 to be exact), with Pacha weighing in at 14.8. That’s pretty significant, if you ask me.
Anyway, the shots were administered seamlessly.
Special Delivery
After our visit to the good doctor, we needed to make a special delivery. I only mention this because part of the route we took to make that delivery was on a road that bears significant twists and turns. We weren’t gone for long, but on the way home, Brutus reminded me of one of the more consistent yet unpleasant differences between cats and dogs, which is that dogs do not give ‘fair warning’ of impending nausea.
Well! Following our special delivery, Brutus decided to make one of his own. Without my knowledge (keeping my eyes on the road and such), I did not realize that he had barfed up the contents of his stomach. Honestly, if I didn’t know better, I would say he’d stuffed his morning feast in a ziplok bag and unloaded it on us. That’s how intact it all was when it appeared before me a second time.
I know this may be ‘tmi’ for some of you, but it was rather impressive that he managed to fill the cup holder in my vehicle with the breakfast he’d eaten three hours earlier. Given the quantity this growing puppy had ingested, he also managed to barf up another massive amount which he artfully aimed between the console and my seat.
The whole thing was executed masterfully (if unintentionally).
The few that escaped being pilfered – Photo: L. Weikel
The Aftermath
I brought both of the pups inside when we got home and retrieved a roll of paper towels. We interrupted Karl making himself a mid-afternoon snack of cheese on wasabi rice crackers with a dollop of mustard for garnish. Nevertheless, he set them aside and came out to the car to witness the carnage, returning to the house immediately, while I tended to the remediation.
When I completed my task as clean-up crew, I walked into the living room to find the very same puppy with the very same expression on his face as in the photograph at the top of this post. Talk about a puppy who knows he broke the rules! Guilt and regret seem to be written all over his face.
I looked at the plate on the tray table in front of said beleaguered puppy. A handful of crackers with cheese remained on the plate. Karl, growling more for Brutus’s sake than mine, simply said, “I guess he had a void to fill.”
“How many cheese crackers had you made for yourself?” I asked.
“A plate full.”
“Oooh. Wow.” And looking Brutus in the eye, I asked, “Did you do this?”
Yes. Yes he had. And he hasn’t been fully on his game ever since. (And I’m trying not to relive the trauma of Spartacus suddenly not feeling well.)
Ah, adolescence. But still…I do have to admire his aim. Filling the cup holder was gross but masterful.
Alas, I was not beamed up by yesterday’s mothership. Nor did I see any Draconids on our walk tonight. There were too many clouds lingering at the first edge of evening, holdovers from the grumpy, overcast weather of the entire day.
I doubt it would come as a surprise to any of you to learn that Spartacus’s sudden death wrenched our family’s hearts. It threw us for a loop. As weird as it may sound, I think the sudden and unexpected loss of him was a cruel reminder of that same sudden and unexpected loss of Karl.
And yet again, I struggle in my attempts to describe my feelings without being perceived as some kind of hack who is unable to discern between love for a human and love for an ‘animal.’ As if one is higher or more refined than the other.
I struggle because, as I’ve said before, love is love. Love is that unabashed, open-hearted relinquishment of barriers between two beings. It’s a giving of one’s heart. It’s a sense of being seen and heard and cherished no matter what.
Simply one of my favorite photos; Son & Mom, Spartacus & Sheila – Photo: L. Weikel
Imbalance
After Sheila died, a year ago, Karl’s and my walks felt out of balance. For over 12 years we’d taken daily walks, each with a pup of our own on a leash. I’ve often wondered as Spartacus and I walked and walked and walked mostly by ourselves over the last several months whether Karl’s sudden, strange onset of pain, making our walks uncomfortable for him, was at all related to that ‘imbalance.’
Surely it doesn’t seem to make any logical sense that losing one of our cherished pups would impact us physically. And yet, the question lingered. It remains unanswered to this day.
I, for one, only realized after his death how constant a presence in my life Spartacus had become. I’ve always been deeply connected to my four-legged companions, from my very first kitten, Katen, who came into my life when I was six. (He passed away shortly before Karl and I were married.) But especially since the pandemic hit, Spartacus had been literally my constant companion. Even in work, which I now do ‘long distance,’ he was at my side. On the porch, in the house, it didn’t matter. He was with me.
“Arf!” – Photo: L. Weikel
Dream
Several days ago, completely unexpectedly, Spartacus appeared to me in the very early hours of the morning. This is when I often receive my most profound communications from other realms.
That morning, I felt like I opened my eyes and saw Spartacus. He was in my face – I could see his adorable little front teeth. His front paws were on me, on my arm, getting my attention. He kept saying, “Arf! Arf!” very insistently. His big brown eyes looked right into mine.
I thought, what is he telling me? What does he mean when he arfs at me like this?
“What pup? What are you telling me?” I asked.
“Get it,” he replied.
“But…”
“I used to tell you to GET IT when I wanted you to go into the yard and get one of my toys to throw for me.”
“But…”
“Get it. Get a puppy. I don’t want you to wait.”
“What???”
“ARF!” And he grinned at me. Love poured out of him, poured out of his big brown eyes.
All I could feel was love for him and his love for me.
Man oh man, it’s been a week. Wait. What? It’s not over yet, you say? Well, I guess that’s technically true (and not a little scary). All I can say at this moment, though, is that I’m feeling very loved – and I have all of you to thank for that.
When I wrote my post last Sunday night, I was worried. I’d intended to write another anthropomorphized vegetable tale, but obviously that silliness was pre-empted. I may or may not regain the light-hearted silliness required to write about the carrot that arrived from the CSA last weekend.
As most of you know, it doesn’t matter what I may have tucked in the back of my mind as a possible topic on any given evening. Ultimately, I always opt to share my state-of-being in the moment. And I could feel in my bones that, even though he just seemed ‘punk’ throughout the day, Spartacus’s malaise was rapidly degrading into something far more concerning.
Community of Compassion
I want to tell all of you how much your words and gestures of love and compassion have meant to me this week. The first few days of the week were a blur of action and driving and shock. The next few felt like a slow-motion pileup of emotions – as well as that weird unable-to-catch-your-breath feeling of having the wind knocked out of you. That’s the feeling that accompanies sudden, irretrievable loss. It’s like a WOMP right to the solar plexus.
My wish is that none of you ever have to feel it. But of course, I know many of you already have. Whether you have or you haven’t experienced that feeling, reading about it is a gift. Not a gift to you necessarily. But definitely a gift to the writer. It’s a gift that you gut through it long enough to share in the emotions as hard as they may be to read, and then – even more amazingly – take the time to write a comment in response.
Can I tell you how much it meant to me to pull up FB on my phone and just see how many people had reacted? And then the shock of seeing the number of comments? I felt arms around me and a solidarity of shared compassion just in looking at those numbers.
To be honest, I didn’t have the emotional bandwidth to read your sweet and loving comments until yesterday. It was a comfort simply to know you cared enough to write to me. I needed to wait a full day to take the time to scroll through them and then truly take in your love.
We Are Kindred Spirits
The level of compassion and understanding with which so very many of you responded was enlightening. The heartfelt responses I received from you were not a reflection of the quality of my writing. No. They were a reflection of the love that each and every one of you has experienced first-hand. Experienced – and then been forced to release into the ethers. Because that’s the nature of our lives.
The array of responses revealed something else, too: You’re all a bunch of lovers. We love and we let go.
The fact that I’m lucky enough to have so many people (from all over the world, I might add) in my life, sharing this journey, holding each other’s hands when any one of us is hurting, is a treasure. It’s not easy to live our lives with awareness. It’s hard to choose to feel – and not run from the hard stuff.
Thank you for being the kind softies you all revealed yourselves to be. I love being part of our community of compassion. I dare say it’s because we have each other that we pick ourselves up every day and refuse to give in to the darkness that threatens all of us every once in a while.
We buried Spartacus this evening. Our entire nuclear family was present for the ceremony, although the Boston** contingent had to attend via FaceTime. Amazingly, the weather held. In fact, when Karl and I walked before the burial, we were sure the ominous clouds building and racing through the sky cast some serious doubt on whether we’d even get the job accomplished tonight. Instead of raining on our ceremony, though, the clouds parted and – cross my heart – the stars and planets shone brightly in the sky above us.
Mama Killa (pronounced Mama keeya), Grandmother moon in Quechua, rose in her just-past-full abundance behind our house (from where we were burying Spartacus). Her light framed our house in a golden light. Of course, we buried Spartacus right beside his mother, both of them facing our house so they could always keep an eye on their people and home.
In the Clouds – Photo: L. Weikel
A Little Magic
I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t have some sort of magical dust to sprinkle on our experience, right? Well, starting out this evening, as Karl and I walked, the clouds scuttling across the sky revealed a formation that was a pretty obvious reminder of Spartacus, especially his distinctive ears.
It was fleeting, but we both saw it.
During the ceremony, Cletus made a point of being with us, meowing the entire time. Cletus did the exact same thing when we buried Sheila. It’s as if he’s our designated keener. He cried and cried until Sacred Space was opened. He was silent during our heartfelt sendoff, then proceeded to cry and circle between all our legs again as Sacred Space was closed.
And speaking of heartfelt sendoffs, Tiffany sang a Patsy Cline song to Spartacus, honoring his devotion to us and our daily walks. I dare you to listen and not well up. I was blown away.
Keeping an Eye On Us
There was another synchronicity between Sheila’s burial and Spartacus’s (it still pains me to write that) involving Tiffany that I’ll share with you tomorrow.
But I’m going to leave you with the photo at the top of this post and below. What you see is what I saw when I looked up this evening, just as my son was leaving. This is the window that faces where the dogs are buried. But it looks out onto our porch. They are buried at least a hundred yards away.
If I did not know that Spartacus could not be out on the porch somehow managing to look in the window asking to be let in, I would’ve stood up right then and there and gone out to the kitchen to let him in.
It’s a moment of magic. And to be honest, one that made my heart skip a beat. Spartacus was known for his big bat-like ears.
Good grief. As I typed these words, I just turned to see if the shadow was still there. It is – and it moved. Again, my heart leapt into my throat. My mind grasps for a logical explanation and lands on, “This is a trick being played on me by the leaves of our trees.” Oh please. Who am I to explain it away? And why?
Nature conspires for the Magic Win of the evening.
Who’s Peeking In Our Window? – Photo: L.Weikel
*Ignore my dirty windows.
**Not to be confused with the Boston Terrier contingent, both members of which were in attendance in spirit, as opposed to via FaceTime.
Well, when I mentioned last week that I suspected yesterday’s full moon and tomorrow’s equinox would be some powerful aspects to contend with, I guess I wasn’t messing around. And those are only the more obvious transits happening this week.
In the spirit of full disclosure, I am emotionally cooked. In spite of my hopes and exhaustion, I didn’t sleep well last night. I tossed, turned, and was acutely aware of the absence of Spartacus in/on my bed. That boy slept in the small of my back for 13 years. So stringing the words together tonight is like walking through quicksand. I keep sinking into pockets of random thoughts and then jerk awake, finding I’ve been stuck on the same sentence for twenty minutes.
I did want to mention that tomorrow (Wednesday 22 September 2021) is going to be a powerful day on a number of fronts. The most obvious is the fall equinox, which will occur at 3:21 p.m. EDT. This marks the balance between light and dark and heralds the gradual shortening of our days (in the Northern Hemisphere) and the time of harvesting (on a variety of levels). Once again, this is a powerful time to begin taking action on making the changes in our lives that are in alignment and support of our dreams. Here is a perspective you might find interesting.
Spart’s Rainbow & Heart – Photo: L. Weikel
A Chaotic Day
Besides today being the aftermath of yesterday (how’s that for profundity?!), I also had set up an appointment last week for Precious to be seen by our vet. She’s been a hot mess for a long, long time and I finally made up my mind to have her examined and tested.
This is a bigger deal than you might at first think. She’s paranoid as all get out and of course she hid under the bed in my son’s old bedroom, howling (and yes, I do mean howling) in distress that Karl and I were trying to pick her up. (She bolted upstairs as soon as I looked at her about 45 minutes before her appointment. Damn cat is too psychic for her own good.)
We managed to double team her and not only put her in a pillowcase, which is my preferred method of transporting our cats to the vet, but for good measure also put her (while still in the pillowcase) into the cat carrier.
Long story short, she acted like her hair was on fire or as though we were plotting to slowly butcher her. Once I got to the vet’s office, she actually needed to be sedated (gassed) in her carrier so the doctor (who was still feeling anguish over Spartacus) could examine her.
While we are still waiting for the blood tests to come back tomorrow (to see if she has anything else going on in her old age), it turns out she has an autoimmune disorder, eosinophilic syndrome. She received a long-acting shot of steroids that could make her feel better than she has in a very long time indeed. I hope so, because her extreme anxiety wore me out, especially after yesterday.
Spart’s Feather – Photo: L. Weikel
Walking Hurt Today
It was excruciating taking a walk today. For all the joy being out in nature brings me, it was hard to appreciate anything in the realization over and over today that Spartacus and I would never walk together again.
Surprisingly, I did witness some magic, even though I was pretty sure my perspective was too sad to do so. A rainbow dog appeared in the sky and the cloud formation beside it reminded me of a broken heart. Not in a sad way, though. It felt more like an acknowledgment from Karl and Spartacus (and Sheila) that they feel my sadness and know how much I miss them.
Further along on my walk, I found this feather.
It’s a little bit of magic that I wasn’t expecting. In my need for sleep and desire to wake up and find this was all a bad dream, I’ll gratefully accept these gifts from Spirit.
Trying to write this post is a nightmare. Believe me, I don’t want to. It stuns me that it’s necessary. Eulogizing my beloved Spartacus seems redundant. Any attempt – inadequate. I’m going to have to let the million posts I wrote that referenced him and his mother Sheila speak for themselves. I don’t want to believe he’s actually gone. But he is.
The photo that was at the top of last night’s post was taken at 2:00 p.m. yesterday. The rapidity with which his health situation crashed was stunning. The doctors have no clue as to his illness’s etiology.
All I know is that our veterinarian and the emergency veterinarian both were at a loss. His blood work showed his liver and kidneys were failing. He was septic – apparently very much so, according to his blood sugar. And the chances of bringing him back from the brink of reuniting with his mommy, Sheila, were extremely slim.
Hangin’ on the porch – Photo: L. Weikel
Small Comfort
As with all loss, especially the kind that sneaks up and smacks you in the head from behind, questions abound. Regrets, second-guessing, and ‘what-ifs’ swirl unmercifully in your head, and even more so in your heart. While intellectually you might know without a doubt that the one lost (and here I’m making no distinction between the objects of our love) knew they were loved and adored – it is small comfort in the face of the fact that suddenly they’re gone.
Squeaky toy, muddy paws; Photo: L.Weikel
And Yet, It’s Everything
I think that’s probably the most excruciating part about being a human. It’s both the awareness of love and the persistence of that awareness once the beloved is gone. Because it’s that persistence of awareness that stops us in our tracks when we remember they’re gone. And it’s the persistence of that awareness that’s reflected in the pain we humans are terrified of knowing. At least that’s been my experience.
Pain is the direct 1:1 reflection of the depth of the love. It can feel unfathomable.
I love with my whole heart, without restriction. And when I lose an object of my love (particularly unexpectedly) the pain ‘goes there.’ It is hard to see straight for a time. And it’s tempting to wish I’d never opened myself up to being hurt so deeply, to being left so vulnerable.
The Four S’s – Photo: L.Weikel
And Then I Remember
I remember the joy. I remember what’s truly important about life and living.
Knowing the pain, I love all the more. In fact, I yearn to bring more love into my life. I’m not a glutton for punishment. I just know. Love is what lives forever. And it’s the most powerful force in existence.
Sheila and Spartacus Reunited 9/20/21 – 5 days shy of one year exactly; Photo: L.Weikel
Spartacus: “I don’t feel well, Mommy” – Photo: L. Weikel
Off His Game
I’m distracted this evening. I’m worried about my Spart-man. As soon as I woke up this morning, I noticed he was ‘off his game.’ For one thing, he hadn’t come back upstairs to cuddle with me after his morning rendezvous with the elements. (Karl lets him out early, but Spartacus always – always – come back upstairs to cuddle with me. Every morning. Without fail.)
Anyway…when I came downstairs looking for my cuddle-bug, I found him outside, just standing underneath the bird feeders looking…lost. And forlorn. And frazzled, to be honest. The hair along his backbone was standing on edge – the way it looks when we walk past his buddies the wolfhounds and they talk smack to him.
It’s fine when his hair bristles at the abuse by his wolfhound buddies. It’s quite another when there’s no discernible…anything…going on.
His position the entire day – Photo: L.Weikel
Off His Game
I knew immediately that something was ‘off.’ He looked at me and the usual joy that beams out of his eyes wasn’t there. It was as if he was distracted, which perhaps he was. I think he was feeling ill and didin’t know what to do with those feelings.
I called him and chirruped in my most enthusiastic voice, but to no avail. He acted like he didn’t even want to climb the three steps to our porch. He did so, eventually, but not without exuding a sense of extreme malaise. There wasn’t even a hint of tail-wagging to be observed.
He drank a bit of water, but had no interest in food. I think I can count on one hand the times this boy has ever been disintererested in food. But…ok. Things happen. I was not going to get worried by a little stomach growler.
Things Only Got Worse
As the day wore on, Spartacus became more and more lethargic. Basically, he slept the entire day. But beyond that, he barely moved. That wouldn’t bother me all that much if the sleeping yielded even an ounce more pep. But it did not. We couldn’t even coax him to stand up.
Several more hours went by. The sun was setting and the moon was rising and it was time to take our walk. Spartacus, my baby. Can’t you shake this bug off yet, bunny?
I put his harness on in the hopes that it would inspire him to at least give a walk a try. Our walks are legend. And besides, I figured if he ate something that disagreed with him he might have to ‘get things moving’ in his innards and a walk might be just the ticket to his recovery.
Alas, no dice. He barely stood up long enough for me to secure his harness before immediately resuming his prone position on his massive pillow. Undaunted (and a bit shameless, I’ll admit), I offered him a treat. Nope.
Even the Wolfhounds Sensed Something
Even the wolfhounds recognized his absence. Entirely uncharacteristically, they turned their backs on me as I walked past them. Their buddy Start was nowhere to be seen. They couldn’t be bothered with his human.
“Bah. Where’s the little guy? We’re out of here.” Photo: L. Weikel
While I was walking, Karl brought him inside and tucked him into his softest dog bed. Once I came back, I had a feeling he might need to go to the bathroom. We took him out and he wandered a bit in the dark, but overall, it seemed to be a fruitless endeavor. Fruitless, except perhaps for a bit of some almost-dry heaves. (I’ve wracked my brain to think if he snuffled up anything on our walk last night, but I cannot remember anything unusual. And yes – he walked four miles with me yesterday…)
This is NOT the way Spartacus ever behaves.
Tigger: “What’s wrong with Spart, Mommy?” – Photo: L.Weikel
Present Status
Right now, Cletus is watching over his big brother. They’re both curled up, asleep on the mega pillow we have on our porch. Honestly, it’s the cutest indication of brotherly love. It’s fascinating – the cats all seem a bit perturbed. There’s definitely a disturbance in the force.
I’m not sure if Spart has a bit of a fever and feels better sleeping outside in the coolness of the night air, or what his motivation is for remaining outside. Is it just too much trouble to get up and come inside? It’s unsettling.
Believe me; once I write this and get it posted, I’m going outside and carrying him up to bed. There’s no way I’m going to let him sleep outside when he doesn’t feel well.
He’s my baby. And if he’s not acting more like himself by the time I wake up tomorrow morning, he’s going to visit his doctor. We can only hope it’s just something that needed time to work itself out.
Thanks for listening and maybe even sending some love to our pup.
It’s that time of year again: the magical days of September when the sky can’t possibly become bluer and the sweet scent of fall flirts with our senses. It’s also the time when Praying Mantises migrate across our local country roads from field to forest. I don’t know why they choose not to fly. I don’t know why they seem to luxuriate in the warmth of the black macadam of the roadway. But this annual trek from one side of the road to another doesn’t seem to be evolutionarily a wise trajectory.
I’ve written about Praying Mantises each and every September since beginning this 1111 Devotion in November of 2018. They were Sheila’s favorite autumn snack. While I miss her terribly, it’s amusing to think back on how much she relished these creatures. This time of year, which was also her birth month, yielded perfect temperatures and crunchy green snacks.
It’s curious how Spartacus (her son) had no taste for them for years. Or perhaps he didn’t want to get between his mother and her snacks. That’s a possibility… This year, though, he’s been eating them with gusto, channeling his inner Sheila.
Photo: L. Weikel
Don’t Mess With the Live Ones
He has learned through direct experience that the only tasty Praying Mantis is a dead Praying Mantis. He mistakenly approached a live one the other day and clearly encountered an unequivocal, “Hell no!” He must’ve jumped a foot off the ground in surprise and there may even have been a surprised, “Yip!” in the mix. Since then, he has approached all potential green roadkill with a more circumspect attitude.
The photos I’m including tonight are of one that seemed extremely aware of our presence but was not inclined to move off the road. It watched me take its photo, which was a tad eerie.
“You talking to me?” Photo: L. Weikel
Stillness
Today these insects were crossing the road in droves. The lore surrounding them often focuses on their deliberative movements and opportunistic hunting qualities. (They’ve been known to wait patiently on feeders to kill hummingbirds.) They’re renowned for their patience and stillness.
I think I’m going to practice more of that tomorrow. Stillness feels like the message I need to hear.
Sometimes disappointment creeps up on us. It stealthily tiptoes up behind us and jumps out of the bushes when we’re least expecting it. And sometimes we see it coming a mile away – maybe even miles and miles away – but we hope against hope that we’re wrong.
It seems to me there’s more than our share of disappointment in the air at the moment. From witnessing the dramatic shift in the way our system of government conducts itself (or not) to those in power failing to be held accountable for egregious behavior. It’s a disappointment that consequences seem to be visited only upon regular citizens. Masterminds and master manipulators need not worry for a moment. All will be well. Nothing will change in their lives.
Just Weather
And then there’s the disappointment we sentient beings experience when we take a step back and honestly look at the climate alterations that are becoming more and more obvious. How long will it take before those living out west start to realize this is their ‘new normal?’ Yet another ‘heat dome’ settling in over our mostly western states and parts of Canada (the fourth in five weeks!), bringing Idaho of all places their 20th consecutive day reaching 100 degrees or more.
Of course, we all know it’s just weather. It’s certainly not climate change. And even if the climate is changing, it’s not our fault. And since it’s not our fault then we don’t – indeed, shouldn’t – do anything to mitigate it. Thus, we mustn’t reduce or eliminate our use of fossil fuels because (a) China might not do it; and (b) it’s not our fault.
It’s all about blame. And money. And refusing to take responsibility. Who cares if we can’t breathe? Or that we have no water to drink? Most people (in this country, at least) are sure, deep down, that somebody will take care of us. Somebody will ‘save’ us. And they will, maybe – for a price.
Yeah, that ‘rugged individualism’ looks a lot different when it hits your home. It’s a disappointment people can’t see the truth of that.
Little Things, Too
And then there are the small disappointments in our lives. The personal ones. Witnessing people we know and love refusing to take precautions to keep themselves (and all of us) healthy. Listening to justifications that make no sense because they’re not grounded in reality. Wanting to find common ground again because we care enough to desire a conversation – but finding no traction anywhere anymore.
Or at a very basic level, just wishing we could see our besties again – and having them not show up anymore. Spartacus experienced that profoundly on our walk today, which you can see reflected in these photos.
We haven’t had a chance to take our walk-around (4 mile trek) in several days. It’s just been ‘too damn hot’ – or too rainy. But today we were able to take that longer route and Spartacus was palpably delighted, straining at his harness, yearning to see his ‘buds’ – which I’m not sure is a friendship or more a smack-talking hound fest. Either way, it gets Spart’s adrenalin pumping and he loves his wolfhound neighbors.
Spartacus was the embodiment of disappointment when not a wolfhound was to be seen tearing across the fields toward us, barking in a frenzy of terror-inducing menace. We’ll have to try again tomorrow.
The Embodiment of Disappointment – Photo: L. Weikel
