Sweetness and Goodness

resolution, noun, she made a resolution not to see Anne again
1 a firm decision to do or not to do something

In addition to the aforementioned resolutions, I would like to spice up my life with adopted dogs, like this one. He is a 10-pound Bichon/Poodle mix. He is a one-year-old baby boy with no name. (No name!) He has an angelic baby-doll face and a big nose. He has been mistreated and neglected. I find him so awkwardly lovable. I, despite my poorness, am considering adopting him because he is also soon-to-be homeless.

I cannot pinpoint the precise moment when I became a dog person. We had dogs (many) growing up and my dad was always griping about having to take care of them, and how me and my sisters were lazy and irresponsible. And while we probably were, we still loved them. All of them. Gibson the Jack Russel who baby Cullan called "Sippin." Maggie, the Rotweiler with staying power, who posed for pictures in a floppy hat next to a miniature tea set and my sister Whitney. We chased them, rode them, kissed them. They were part of our family. And every time one had wandered off to die, or became a casualty to the dangers of farm-life, we would mourn in a slow, steady way. Avoiding each others' eyes, pushing our dinner around our plates without appetites, going for walks alone out into the pasture.

But, without fail, in a matter of weeks, my mom would return from a extra-long errand with a small puppy in her lap. I can still call to mind--at a moment's notice--the image of her eyes sparkling as she introduced us to the new little creature. Her eyes dancing, she'd put him down on the grass slowly as we formed a semi-circle full of squeals and cooing. "THIS is Romeo," she would say with delight and emphasis on each word. She would clasp her hands together and smile down at us. Mimicking the sounds she made moments before, I would look up at her and say, "OH, Mom. He is SO CUTE. I love him already." And we would pick the puppy up and pet his small head. Laugh as he pranced between us, giggle as he licked our round faces.

In the photograph of my memory I can now zoom out or pan left and find my dad grimmacing in the corner, his thick tanned arms folded across his chest. After we were put to bed, we could always hear the faint traces of an arguement drifting out from beneath their bedroom door. But she didn't care. She never did. She was probably driving down some windy country road, her left foot propped up on the dash, tapping her fingers to Bonnie Rait, and suddenly, she just became consumed by the vastness, the emptiness she felt. No matter how fast I drive, she thought, when I go around this sharp curve, I will be on the same path. And so she would drive further and further. In to the city, next to the copy place, to the SPCA and pick out the next plump puppy she would use to plug the leaks that drained her, left her empty.

Twenty two years old, busy and contented, I feel full. But I still often sense an anxiousness within me. A quiet stirring that is pushing me toward spontaneity, no matter the manifestation of it. A stillness that provokes a sort-of sinking feeling--making me want to swim and swim until I don't recognize my surroundings anymore. Today, as an adult, when I look back at the way my mother was then, it seems simple to me. She just had so much love to give. So much energy and not enough valves to plug in to. She was restless, and often careless, but I can never bring myself to blame her for any of that.

I'd like to think I'm the former and not the latter, but there's a good chance I am both. Perhaps that's why I am considering this homeless pup who just needs some love and attention. Two things that I know I can give him. Two valves that I long to plug in to, with all that is in me. Maybe that's my calling. Just to be a lover and giver of attention and care. That's good enough for me. And I AM careful. I know I'm not careless. I'm responsible, mostly. I know I often do what's safe and clearly calculated and logical. But I just don't want him to be sad anymore. Or anyone else for that matter. I want all of us to be back in that semi-circle with laughter, all of us back together, safe and smiling and happy.