Good Dog...

It is a spectacular weekend here in southwestern Ontario... The sun is shining, the temperature is warm and climbing, the breeze is blowing gently, the forecast is more of the same for the whole weekend giving us our first real taste of the summer that is ahead of us. And as I sip my coffee and talk with the collective "you," I am surrounded by sounds... Lawn mowers whizzing... birds chirping and dogs barking in the background. Dogs.

I love dogs and for most of my life I have been a dog owner, sometimes of more than one. When I was a little girl we had dauchands... Don't bother with your criticisms, I have heard them all. "That's not a dog." "What's that, a wiener on legs?" I know, I know. But for a little girl with little courage or self-esteem, it was the perfect dog I thought. Ours was named Dunkel (German for dark... I have no idea where that came from being of Irish descent) and we had him for years until he passed and we got Dunkel 2.

After I left home it was a few years before I enjoyed the company of a dog again but once our children had arrived and we had settled into what could loosely be called a routine (very loosely), we had dogs steadily. There was Porsche the dalmatian (my advice on owning dalmations is just don't unless you really know what you are getting yourself into) who we ended up giving to a widow on a farm who knew dalmatians and was thankful for the company she provided. After Porsche, there was Fred (yes, the choice of name was significant). We had gone from a pure bred to a wonderful, happy mut and wanted his name to be as simple as possible. Fred was my boy and he was a great dog (if you could forgive him the habit of bolting out the door and down the street at every opportunity, which I could because I loved him). Soon after came Wilma, a black lab who Parker found by accident. And a perfect accident it was because she fit into our home and our lives perfectly. But Wilma was most definitely my husband's dog and she was devoted to him.

When Fred finally passed at the ripe old age of 13 I waited a while to try to get used to him not being around but found I couldn't. So I started the search for another family member to join us. I ended up finding Bugg, a boston terrier, pug cross whose personality was much bigger than his little size conveyed. And he was my boy again. When my husband and I separated, in the continued efforts to keep things as "normal" for everyone as possible, the dogs too, stayed at the house. I wasn't sure what my schedule was going to be like and at the time, my apartment would not allow pets.

That changed, unfortunately right around the time that Bugg died from a very unfortunate but pug-typical malady. I was, again, heartbroken and I am, again, wondering about getting a dog. Or a pet. Or something.

It's times like this, when all is quiet except the sounds of the world outside my doors and windows that I most want to have someone or something to talk to. I am not a cat person... I have nothing against cats, I don't dislike them... I just believe you are either a cat person or a dog person and I am a dog person.

So I have been looking at animal shelters, here in my home town and on-line to see who is out there needing someone to come rescue them. I don't want to rush this and I really don't want to bring a dog into my home when things might be changing, as they might be...

But I will keep looking and when the time is right, I will find him or her and she will find me.

'Til then, maybe a goldfish.