Saturday, February 26, 2011

Solo puzzle completion

Today, after burning the last year's palms at church for use on Ash Wednesday, my granddaughter Bridget came over and completed a 500 piece jigsaw puzzle in four hours, while eating lunch, many, many Girl Scout thin mints, and a coke. I recently found this puzzle stashed on a high shelf, a puzzle her father and aunt did as kids. She did it solo, although at the end, Dover tried to pretend that he was the one who put in the last piece.

Thursday, February 10, 2011

Five birthdays and two anniversaries

Today is Dover's third birthday, so I made him a poached egg on kibble when we came back from our 2 mile walk on pretty much rock solid sidewalk ice. He is a grown-up now, and to mark this transition he is busy taking a post-breakfast snooze on the couch.

This week started out with my daughter-in-law's birthday, and as the week progressed there were three birthdays of friends to celebrate and the anniversary of the death of Mungo (one of Dover's predecessors); the week will end with the adoption day anniversary of one of Dover's friends.

My daughter-in-law threw out the seed for the daisies in the bank by the sea; the first time I saw them in bloom was a breathtaking moment. So now, when I think of my daughter-in-law, I think "daisies,"  which also happens to be my favorite flower. This same d-in-l is a stained glass artist, and this past summer she made this seaside display case for my Minnesota family to take home to remind them of a couple of warm weeks spent at the beach to get them through the rigors of the Minnesota winter.

We celebrated the three friends' birthday with an elegant dinner prepared by another friend; he loves to cook and presents his food offerings gracefully and thoughtfully.

Skipper, the seventeen year old resident wonder cat spent most of his time enjoying the celebration from his perch on the sidelines, in the company of his giant rat.

Three years ago this week, Mungo died prematurely of spleen cancer at age 5. He was a loving, affectionate and idiosyncratic dog, and he had what I am convinced was a bona fide eating disorder. He came from a litter of 2, and was so enamored of his mother's breakfast, elevenses, lunch, snack and supper largesse that his people took him off his mother at 4 weeks so his sib could get a little nourishment. Once he came to our house, he ate everything in sight, pens, sponges, lemon tarts, lobster ravioli, and most distressing of all, sandwiches and snacks of unsuspecting children who held their food a little too low - just at snout level.

Dover was born the next day, although of course we did not know that, in fact, we hadn't even begun to negotiate for him at the time of Mungo's surprisng death. But negotiate we did, and 8 weeks later we hazarded the narrow, windy, pot-holed New Hampshire back roads, miraculously found Dover's birth place, signed lots of forms, and brought him home. He instantly fell in love with Jonah, our older dog who was very ill with cirrhosis of the liver; Jonah lived long enough to help bring Dover up and teach him to leap off the porch and bring in the morning paper.

This week of important days ends with the eleventh anniversary of Dover's friend's home-coming. Dottie was born on Christmas Day and so she gets to celebrate all notable events that touch her life.