The search continues

Some time ago a good friend brought me this plant holder with a poinsettia in it.
I named her Serenity because I hope that was what she would bring me.
Nor she's abloom with spring flowers, and I think she's serene, a model for me.
I spent too much of today onmy ongoing search for the perfect dog to fill the hole left in my heart and mylife by Sophie. Don’t get me wrong—the perfect dog is the offbeat rescue, theslightly different one, the one that maybe no one else will want. I leafedthrough pages of Petfinder (they have 226 pages of adoptable dogs), and tonightJordan and I looked at many. We laughed over a dog named Juju, since that is mygrandmotherly name. “It would get confusing,” Jordan said, “which Juju would webe calling?” Another dog was named Panic, and Jordan said she could hear whathappened if at three o’clock in the morning I opened my door to call, “Panic!Panic!” She thinks the emergency squad would be here immediately.

I had found one dog thatreally interested me. His name is Oreo, an Aussie mix, four or five years old,house- and crate-trained, and billed as a perfect gentleman. But another dog,with the unlikely name of Merle Haggard, stuck in my mind. He’s about two yearsold, a black dog, the same weight as Sophie (which is perfect for us), house-and crate-trained. So many of the dogs that interest me need canine companionsor lots of exercise because they are high energy breeds. Merle Haggard’sdescription says he will adapt to my energy level, and he likes to chase squirrels,which was Sophie’s main occupation. Jordan and Christian are enthusiastic aboutMerle Haggard, so I put him first on my list and Oreo second. We would loveeither one.

This whole business isfrustrating because you apply and … nothing. I did get a response from SavingHope that I was conditionally approved, but once I specified a dog, I heardnothing. Poor Merle Haggard has been in their care for almost two years, and Ithink that’s partly because it’s hard to place black dogs. After Sophie I havea soft spot in my heart for black dogs (okay she was sort of mottled withsilver—he is almost totally black). Anyway, you’d think the agency would actquickly on an expression of interest in a dog that had been there a long time,but not so. I’m told by those who know that the problem is volunteer help. Ifind that’s cold comfort.

Otherwise it was a lazySaturday—Zenaida came to clean the cottage, and we had several teary moments rememberinghow much Sophie loved Zenaida and how she used to follow her around. I got somedesk work done, read a lot of political updates, made the dough for a snack forMonday morning company, and had a long nap.

We would have had dinner at adecent hour tonight, except Jordan joined me in looking at dog profiles. ThenChristian came along. He had spent the day enjoying the Fort Worth Food andWine Festival (you can interpret that as you will) and he wanted to talk moreabout Merle Haggard. So it was after seven when I finally started cooking andnear eight when we had dinner: chicken thighs in a garlic/anchovy/caper sauce.Delicious, but so greasy. One of those recipes that has you start it on thestove, then whisk the skillet into the oven. I can’t do that, so I winged it ina bit, but it turned out to be delicious.While Jordan and Christian waited for supper, they sat on the patio.
and she took this of my honeysuckle in bloom. 
A pesty plant but so pretty when it blooms.

I finished out the evening witha long conversation with an old friend who lost her husband this week. I knowthat it’s the age I am—I lose friends, my friends lose loved ones, and it’swhat life is. The best I can do is listen, and I’ve been trying hard to do that.But every time I am called on for comfort, it reminds me of my own mortality.But more than that, it reminds me how lucky I am to be as active and healthyand engaged as I am.

So it’s certainly been a mixedbag of a day. But as always, I am grateful. Sweet dreams, everyone.