Me and the dogs.
Note that they were reluctant to stay still
for the slow photogapher.
Since my
last visit to Tomball, the family has lost Grace, the big old shepherd mix who
sat on my feet while I worked, and acquired Ginger. She’s billed as an Aussie, but
I think she’s got some smooth-coated collie in her. She definitely has the
collie/Aussie sweet disposition. And she’s a beauty, with a coat that truly is
the color of gingerbread.
We
wondered how Ginger and Sophie would get along, but after about two minutes
they were just fine. And I have spent the visit surrounded by dogs. Ginger is
just the right height to get under the dining table and lay her head in my lap,
big brown eyes looking soulfully at me. Or she literally lies at my feet, making
sure that some part of her touches some part of me. Sophie has not been as
jealous as I expected, but she will wander over to be petted when she sees
Ginger by me. Ginger on the other hand, has radar, and if Sophie comes to me,
Ginger will rouse herself from elsewhere in the house to come be petted.
This
morning both dogs had a good romp—herding is as instinctive to each of them as
running is, and they ran in huge circles chasing each other. One thing that’s always
worried me with Sophie in Tomball is that there are no fences, and I feared if
she once got loose, she’d be gone forever. If I’d been outside this morning, I’d
have said no, but Colin let her off the leash, and she happily came back to
him, maybe because Ginger did. I don’t go outside here and pretty much stay in
the wing of the house with the kitchen, family room, and my bedroom. The house
is multi-level, and getting from one end to the other is a challenge for me.
Once
in Fort Worth, granddaughter Morgan said to me, “I think I’ve got everything
packed and ready to go home.” I turned to look, and she had Sophie under her
arm. Told her last night turnabout is fair play, and I may have to talk Ginger
home.
Our Thanksgiving table, with the two grandmothers as bookends.
Although we were very happy, something about this photo
reminds me of American Gothic.
Our
Thanksgving dinner was traditional, the way we all like it, and bountiful. You
know if I eat two slivers of pie, and neither of them chocolate, it’s got to be
good. We had Brussel sprouts which I sometimes eat, and Colin kept talking
about three bites for politeness and the eggplant of his childhood (I don’t
think I really did that, but he insists). Turkey was moist and flavorful, and I
look forward to leftovers tonight.
Strange
thing this afternoon. I was napping and had a bad dream in which I called out
for help. Apparently I really did because Colin gently shook me awake, and Sophie
jumped on the bed and walked all over me. I went back to dozing, but I worried
about that and wondered if I ever do that at home. I think we all have dreams,
occasionally, that make us call out for help. On the other hand, I know my
dreams are quite vivid—in color and with audio.
May
you all sleep tight tonight, with full bellies and sweet dreams—no bad dreams.
A better view of Ginger
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