Given all that’s going on in my life at the moment, the effort to write about anything else, no matter how timely, relevant, important or insightful such a post may be is more than I can muster. Welcome to “Writing as Therapy,” or “The BlogPost as Journal Entry.”  I don’t do this often; apologies up front.  The flurry of activity will settle down, or I’ll get acclimated to managing this level of intensity, or I’ll alienate a few people who need to hear from me.  One way or another, an equilibrium will be reached.

True confession: all I really want to write about is RedCloud, the new dog headed our way on Sunday, September 19.  RedCloud is a 13 month old Belgian Malinois, whose adorable mug caught my eye whilst engaged in online “dogporn” – the art of fantasizing about owning another dog while scrolling through images and descriptions not unlike online dating profiles.  RedCloud is emaciated; my husband has already nicknamed him Skeletor.  He has been sprung from a shelter in Florida and will be driven up the East Coast by a crew of volunteers who sign up for a “leg” of the journey (leading to a wealth of innuendo about open legs).  I am completely blown away by the generosity the volunteers on site in Florida and the drivers along the way have offered to RedCloud, the ABMC rescue organization, and me.  These people are dealing with dozens of dogs in shelters and foster homes, and are interacting daily with foster owners, shelter workers, transport coordinators, vets, etc. all to help skinnybutt doggies like RedCloud find their way to safety.  No one is getting paid – in fact many of these people are also shelling out cash to cover all the expenses involved with feeding, boarding and vetting of these guys and gals.

What kind of household will RedCloud join?  Maya is taking two AP courses, enrolled in drivers’ ed, and SAT prep courses, working part-time at Bread Alone, and learning dressage at Frog Hollow Farm, after years of barrel racing and hunter-jumper work.  To say she is busy is to call the Dalai Lama a nice guy (to steal SAT question phraseology).  I have taken on Fire Tower volunteer duties and lead hikes for the 3500 Club.  I should be up at the Tower at least one weekend in October, and am leading three hikes before mid-November.  Not bad, except I’m also committed to selling my books at a booth at the Kingston Farmers’ Market two Saturdays in October and I’ve agreed to write for Formidable Females, a political blog just started up by the fabulous (and also incredibly busy) Sarita Ratliff.  And I do have a full-time job.  My husband is the mortar between all these bricks, pitching in everywhere simultaneously it seems.

That covers the exterior – the events, the projects, the happenings, and the plans.  The interior landscape is lush these days.  Friends seek my company and socializing is no longer a curious anomaly.  September 22 will see the third anniversary of my marriage to Tom/Flammeus.  He is a man of true strength and integrity, brave enough to answer my gushy rhetorical query “Haven’t you always wanted three dogs?” with an honest “No.  Not even a little bit.”  The romantic and insane hour-and-a-half commute to see each other has been replaced by yelling down the basement stairs into the mancave, and the pangs of missing each other all week have dissolved into starting and ending each day in each others’ arms.  Marriage suits us and we do it well.

I had always wondered what I might be like if I was happy: TrulyMadlyDeeply happy.  I have my answer.

This entry was posted in Catskilliana, the woof pack, writer's life. Bookmark the permalink.

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