Welcome Jerry!

This is Taylor Marie - taken this morning from her throne. (The back of the couch in the front window.) If you ask her, she'd tell you that she's pissed. Royally. (She's a princess.) Her kingdom has been invaded. No matter that she was lonely. No matter that she likes the company. Princesses, by nature, have to have their moment of disdain and this is hers.


Because...

This is Jerry Lee. Our newly adopted son. He's a five month old cockapoo. (Half cocker spaniel, half poodle.) He's had a rough five months. He didn't ask to be born. And did nothing to bring anger upon himself, but he has suffered. Our little guy cowers when people come near. He crawls on his belly, sensing that danger is imminent. He crawls upstairs. And then cries because he is afraid to come down.

But he loves his older, smaller sister. With her he is all puppy. He prances and plays and follows her. He gobbles his food and wants hers, too. He runs with her toys and chases after her in the yard. He wasn't mistreated by another dog, you see. It was a member of our two legged race who used a defenseless little puppy for anger management.

And...we must whisper this part...Taylor Marie has taken this bigger than her little fellow under her wing. She watches his every move. When he was afraid to come upstairs to the office with us, she stood at the top of the stairs and talked him up. She checks on him when he cries. She plays with him and pounces on him, prances around him and flips her little body around in circles for him. She tells him when he's overstepped his boundaries, teaching him the ways of the world. (Or at least the household.) She's accepting him as part of her family as though he's always been there. Recognizing without question that he has as much right to the position as I do. Or her daddy does.

We've had Jerry four days. And already he's taught me so much. In four days time this little guy has opened his heart and his life to the possibility of good to come his way. In spite of what life has been for him, he trusts us to make it better. He's here with me now, laying at my feet. He's at my feet, or my side, or in my lap every single minute of the day. When I'm working he quietly lays his head on my knee and looks up at me. When we call him, he drops to his belly and crawls - but he comes to us with a wagging tail. Jerry hasn't seen a lot of good in his young life. But he has hope. He wants to believe that he is deserving of love.

Or, at least, that's how I see it. Bad things happen sometimes. To all of us. But that doesn't mean we're bad. We only have to have hope, to be willing to be open and to try to trust, to believe that we're deserving of love. It wasn't Jerry's abuse that gained him a solid place in a loving family. It was his willingness to be loved in spite of the abuse. It was his hopeful spirit.

Jerry isn't a victim. He's a believer, who, in spite of the bad, seeks out the good.

Jerry isn't the only one who has taught me this lesson. A couple of weeks ago I was honored to share space with three other dogs who were born to abuse, but who were open to being loved.

This is Katy, Allie and Ting Ting Potter. They're already famous here as their mother has told you how they complete her life. They touch mine, too. Katy is the one on the left. She's still a bit timid, but not nearly as much as she was a year ago. Allie, her sister, is bold and bright and full of her right to be adored. And Ting Ting (on the right) deigned to spend long enough with the Wild Indians to get her picture taken. Ting is a trooper. In spite of less than fair early beginnings, she is secure with her place in the world, at peace with her right to be loved and cared for, and gives love back tenfold. She makes almost daily rounds at the nursing home, stopping as she proudly struts her little, almost blind self, up to wheel chairs, to give a bit of love to whomever is sitting there. She allows any hand to touch her, to absorb her energy. No matter that it's waning. There will always be more.

Dogs might be just pets to some. They might be considered a lesser race by others. To me, dogs are angels, sent directly from heaven, to help us lowly humans along our journeys through this life. Dogs aren't picky about financial status, or race or creed. They don't care about physical beauty or college degrees. They care about people. About loving and being loved. (And they like to eat.)

So...as we enter this Christmas season, I am hopeful. Bad happens, sadness exists, and love is always available if we are open to its arrival. Just ask Jerry.