Home Again

Last week, I was out of town for a few days on business. I thought about extending my trip, since I was in Alaska and amazingly enough, the weather was blissfully perfect, but I felt bad about leaving Aaron home alone for more days than necessary with the horde. The next time I head up there though, I'm taking some time to get some photos and visit some of the native heritage sites. I do love me some Anchorage, it reminds me a lot of Boise; a small city, easy to navigate, friendly people, laid back...Don't get me wrong, I like the PNW and Seattle too, but my spirit feels very much at ease in the ANC.

When I'm out of town for work, it always amazes me how much free time I have, without having to care for the dogs. There's no vying for my attention, meals to prepare, walks to go on or snuggles to give. As nice as it is to have no interruptions, after hours, I do miss my family, such that it is.

I got back to Seattle on Friday night, around midnight. I had no checked bags, so it was a 15 minute cab ride to my office, where I had left my car parked. I got home around 1:30 and Phoebe was the only one waiting for me...she was keeping vigil in her favorite chair. However, she had hardly stretched in her big, tiger stretch and Deeder came barreling down the hall as if there was a major home invasion taking place. As soon as he realized it was me he started jumping like a crazy man, over and under his sisters. These are the times when I realize two things: 1. I really do need three hands and 2. He shouldn't be jumping with his bad patellas.
Mommy was home and all was well with the world...except, the fatigue I had been fighting was gone, the pain in my neck and arm had returned and I was not one bit tired.

Apparently, I'm not all that different from a dog at times...take me off my schedule and it's not easy to get back on board. I kept reading my book, "Dreaming the Hound" by Manda Scott, unable to put it down and the irony of the characters abiding love and honor for their war hounds, was no different than the deep love I share with mine, who while they've never fought for me, or brought me a rabbit for supper, have kept me warm, safe and loved, when even I thought it unnecessary. Like, the heroine of the story, Breaca, I haven't wanted to give my heart fully to another hound...but I see that over time, what we want to give and what we wind up giving can be two very different things.

It's good to be home, with my big brindle, tiger, snoring nearby, my brindle and white clown, with his assigned position on the ottoman, keeping my legs warm and little, red Bailee, in the crook of my arm, like an infant being held. Life is good.