Love in a Shelter

I really wish today was my day to volunteer at the local animal shelter.  Even though I have a house filled with love in the form of three kids, a husband, and a dog, I need something different.

Struggling to cope with the emotions of my dad's unexpected and all-too-soon death, I need some joyful love.  Love without history or expectation.

I need to be in a run with a soul who is so moved with joy and hope that its boundless love will not be held back, but will spill over in reckless kisses, wagging tail, wiggly butt, nuzzling as close as can be, bouncing up and down.

For all the sadness associated with animal shelters - what with abandoned and abused dogs and cats - there is where I also find my greatest joy.

Stuffed Animals



Our house, like many houses I know, is home to many stuffed animals.  Bears, dogs, bunnies, cats, horses, fish, unicorns, pigs, frogs, and tigers grace not just our children's beds but also the toy box and closets. Some of them even seem to enjoy the company of dust bunnies under the couch.  There are times when I'm tempted to chuck the whole lot in the name of decluttering.

But then I pause and remember.

I remember the childhood feeling of wanting to keep all my stuffed animals safe with me under my blanket.  Any paw, ear or snout that wasn't secure under my furry reversible blanket with a puppy & kitten on it was in danger of being eaten by the monster under the bed.

I remember deplaning on foreign soil and the sick feeling in my stomach when I realized I'd left my beloved Bunny on the plane.  We never found Bunny and no substitute ever made it better.

I remember the toy dogs I received as an adult when I was having babies or birthdays or cancer.

With all those memories of stuffed animals as loving and real to me as the Velveteen Rabbit, I can't bring myself to emotionlessly declutter and purge.

I try to keep my ears open for organizations that need stuffed animals - disaster relief organizations and the like.  Unfortunately the entire planet seems to be drowning in stuffed animals, and I haven't found anyone to offer these toys a home.  (Sounds frighteningly similar to the plight of homeless animals, orphaned children, and the forgotten adults of society, doesn't it?)

So for now our home continues to be a haven for well-loved stuffed animals.  Until the day I can look into beaded eyes and see only plastic, I'm afraid I'll offer these little guys the security they gave to my children and me.  And while we offer safe haven to them, it is my pleasure to try to offer some sense security to the living and breathing.  Stay tuned.

Candy Cane & Me

This is my dog Candy Cane.

Candy Cane and I have a lot in common. 

We like to work in the kitchen, even if we mess up sometimes.

We like to be with our friends.

If you look like you have something important on your mind, we try to understand you.


We each have fewer working parts than we started out with.

The list of our commonalities goes on and on.  We're both food-oriented, we both like to watch sea gulls,  and we are both happy when loved ones arrive.

There are also ways we're very different from each other.

She likes to leave notes for the world by peeing hither and yon; I prefer to type my words at a computer.

She eats meat; I don't.

When I jog, I do so with fear, and I usually wait at least 24 hours between jogs.  Candy doesn't jog.  She runs.  She runs so fast that people are shocked when they discover she's missing a leg.  Candy runs with joy, till her tongue's hanging out through her smile.  Then she plops to the ground, still smiling, rests for 2.5 seconds, and then runs some more.

Candy and I are learning from each other.  I'm teaching her how to contain herself, and she's teaching me how to let myself go.