The first indication of Poppy's thawing was the call outs. She didn't want anything to do with us, until we made to leave the room, and then she would call out. A specific tweet, projected, definitely a question. 

Here, where there are no dogs and she has run of the flat, she has no second thoughts about following us out of a room. She'll call out, and if an answer isn't coming off she goes. 

She still calls for J, but for me she started to make much softer, meeker, sleepy little pips, which begin as my face is turning away, before my feet have moved. Warm little fuzzy squeaks which cuddle my heart snug.

In the last couple of weeks she has come to discover that fingers, too, can be used as scratching posts, are in fact capable of doing all the scratching themselves, and allowing me to so scritch her funny little feathered head until she croaks from bliss. She'll contort her head impossibly to get the best angle, pause to nibble at me furiously before slamming her wee forehead down on my knuckle, ready for the next scratch. 

She brings me such delight, such delight.

I do so miss the dogs. Dogs and birds provide the same, immensely uncomplicated love, but differently. I can wrestle with a dog. I can chase a dog around the table then touch their tails. I can curl up with a dog and feel the warmth of comfort. A love you can wrap your arms around. 

OH LOOK A DOG

Whilst reeling about Rothenburg ob der Tauber this afternoon I happened across possibly the cutest little mutt in the world, and I say that knowing that the dogs back home are the cutest dogs in the world. He was part Dachshund, have that long body, short legs and a fairly lean muzzle, and wiry haired, which I've never seen on a sausage dog. Had the sort of colouring of a German Shepherd, you know, the black saddle and brown trim. AND HE HAD A RIDGE BACK. Seriously, from the top down he was massively shaggy, but then everything but his roof was short-haired! And he was trotting along with his low belly being quite amiable and cheerful and sooooooo CUTE.




I miss my doggles.

Things They Do Not Warn You About In New York

Puppies.

We popped out of the Met and it must have been dog walking time because there were little scrappy doggy things everywhere. EVERYWHERE. Being a cute and happy and doggy! I half thought maybe there was some rule about dogs in New York, restrictions on pounds per inch, but today I spied quite a few larger breeds, including a gorgeous golden retriever prancing about Central Park.

We even stumbled upon a store on Lexington Avenue that sold puppies. This store was called, wait for it..."Puppies".

AND THEY WERE SO CUTE. WE DIED.

Actually the conditions were horrific. But nothing subtracts from the cuteness of a gleeful climbing puppy.







So, I am warning you. New York = puppies.

I'd like to be reincarnated as a happy rabid mutt wading across the glacial melt-water of Dzong-chu beyond Kailash's shadow.

Stranger Things Happen At Sea

The Most Loyal of Black Dogs

Yesterday a friend dreamed of having a great big wolfy dog that never left their side. Yesterday my mum dreamed of one of our current dogs and one of our past dogs and the work she had to do to get them out of a thunderbowl.

It is therefore not particularly surprising that this morning I dreamed of dogs. One of our current dogs playing with an enormous St Bernard who simply adored her, as everyone does. A surprisingly non-confrontational dream, considering. Not at all my unconscious's standard fare.

What You Choose To Be Proud Of

I just put my laptop Eddie on mute.

Only one person reading this will understand the satisfaction I take from this statement. That person is probably laughing at me.

Sharks, Dolphins, Barracuda, Tuna, Whales, Gannets, and You

There was no summary of the year type post for 2009. This was partly because I was out of the country when the new year rolled around, but I had intended to write something up when I was reinserted in my life.

I wrote that post about four times, and then walked away. I'm still not entirely sure why. Sometimes I think it's because I'm still in the midst of some turning tides, and so have no perspective from which to analyse even that which is a year behind me. Say nothing unless you are sure of what you're saying. Don't give your future self any more ammunition to use against yourself. Or, it could simply be that the territory in which the currents have shifted the most are territories I do not wish to share indiscriminately with the internet. With increasingly frequency I pause when posting, as I do not know who reads this any more.

The vaguest of summaries states that in 2009 I became a solid person.

Entering 2009 I wrote;

We come into the world without shape. We're perpetual works in progress. We die unfinished. I have pondered what I need to do in order to recover and regain the parts of me I have lost, but I will take no such steps. The world will do with me what it will, and make of me what it would. We're none of us given time to be whole. We'll never be whole, always being shaped by what's come, and what's yet to come.

I also wrote:

Never been single-minded about anything.

I'm a school of fish. Not a very coherent school of fish. The individual parts of me were in constant opposition. Fish were zipping around in all directions, no agreement between any of them, with 'school' being used in the loosest possible sense.

There have been predators disturbing the water and so disrupting the fish, but I can't blame it all on the sharks and gulls. Even without exterior threats, this school of fish would be a churning chaos of frenetic fish going nowhere and doing nothing.

Last year, not only did all the predators disappear, but the fish just...came together. It almost felt like I'd reached the age I am supposed to be. Maybe it's the first calm water I've ever been in. I don't know why, but suddenly all the fish started moving in unison.

I just...I've never felt so whole. Solid. Strong. Certain. I trusted myself with myself, trusted myself with the decisions I made and that I could weather any consequences that came from them.

Which isn't to say I was a person, no. Just because a million fish move in unison doesn't stop them being a million fish, but if they behave as if they are one mind, then nearly the same as really being one mind.

Lately, there have been sharks in the water.



Doubt, my old friend. I haven't missed you.

The Dogs of Pucón

Pucón was my introduction to South America, the first place I actually stopped being in transit and started being in a foreign country. One of the first things I noticed was the dogs. Stray dogs everywhere. Stray dogs here are generally hungry, frightened, snarling things. The stray dogs there were happy, amiable, fat and lazy things. They'd trot up, tail wagging to say hello, take any food on offer, and amble off. They played with each other and roamed around in great gallumphing packs of rolly-polly dog.







Despite this, many households kept dogs as pets. These dogs were normally in small yards behind high fences, and spent a lot of time barking their envy at all the stray dogs running around free and easy, or pretending they couldn't see them.



This stayed true of everywhere I visited. South America is Happy Dog Country.