Just one more week until we celebrate Allie's first re-birthday, the day she arrived at our house terrified and confused. Posts about her first year here will start on July 1st, but until then I'd like to show you the inspiration for the present I'm making to fulfill the Bashful Butterfly's desire to be well hidden. It'll be very different, but we're still going for the "Arabian Nights fairy tale come true" look. I'm only hoping she'll deign to use it!
http://www.sophiegraceboutique.com/tent-bed-chocolate
Allie in her private booth in the Diva's Dining Room, May 2012
Monday, June 25, 2012
Saturday, June 23, 2012
Camera Shy Dog Seeks Photographer
In other news, Allie continues to be afraid of the camera--when I'm holding it. Anyone interested in coming over and playing photographer while I hold Allie? It's one of her last fears, and we could use some help getting her over it. Thanks!
I KNOW Where She's Been. . .well, pretty sure anyway.
A few weeks ago, I was out and about with Allie. I had her tucked under one arm when this charming little girl about 5 or 6 came up to pet her. She listened to me when I told her that she should move slowly and pet Allie on her side, gently.
It was love at first sight--at least for the girl. Her mom, on the other hand, apparently thought my quiet, well groomed, wee dog was a public menace, even in my arms. (Must have been her owner's messy hair.) She tugged her daughter away. Daughter kept slipping away to come pet Allie. Finally, while I am talking to another woman about Allie, I see out of the corner of my eye that girl has escaped Mom yet again. This time I also hear Mom hiss, "You leave that dog alone! You don't know where it's been!"
It was an arrow to my heart. I wanted to turn to this woman and say, "She's been visiting elders at the nursing center this morning. Where have YOU been today?"
Being the poet I am, I worked through my anger with words. You don't diss my dog, who has struggled so hard to face all her fears--including kids--and expect to escape my pen. :)
To that persistent little girl out there somewhere, keep reaching for the things that make you happy. Patience, as the Bashful Butterfly so well proves, pays off.
It was love at first sight--at least for the girl. Her mom, on the other hand, apparently thought my quiet, well groomed, wee dog was a public menace, even in my arms. (Must have been her owner's messy hair.) She tugged her daughter away. Daughter kept slipping away to come pet Allie. Finally, while I am talking to another woman about Allie, I see out of the corner of my eye that girl has escaped Mom yet again. This time I also hear Mom hiss, "You leave that dog alone! You don't know where it's been!"
It was an arrow to my heart. I wanted to turn to this woman and say, "She's been visiting elders at the nursing center this morning. Where have YOU been today?"
Being the poet I am, I worked through my anger with words. You don't diss my dog, who has struggled so hard to face all her fears--including kids--and expect to escape my pen. :)
To that persistent little girl out there somewhere, keep reaching for the things that make you happy. Patience, as the Bashful Butterfly so well proves, pays off.
I'll Tell You Where She's Been
by Lorraine Achey, June 2012
by Lorraine Achey, June 2012
She's been in a wire cage, wearing
down her sharp teeth on the metal,
trying to chew away boredom,
knowing the madness of being without
love and attention, only receiving
food and water, and having to fight
even for those small blessings.
She's been driven all over one state,
hoping to find someplace safe to land.
With each lonely shelter she stays in,
her terror grows, along with the pain
in her ears. She learns to mold her
terror,
her body becoming a bag of sticks and
stones,
her eyes hopelessly staring at another
wall.
She's been at our vet's office, shaking
in fear and pain, her tiny body filled
with infection, her delicate ear
growing
closed with a tumor. But she's patient,
allows us to handle her, peer in her
mouth and ears and eyes to see
what other ailments may hide beneath.
She's been under bed, buffet, porch--
no trust for anything except the golden
dog that helps her make sense of this
new
world where quiet reigns: no dogs
crazed
for love, no constant barking, no
fighting
for the food in her own dish. Water in
a bowl,
instead of sprayed onto feces covered
cement.
She's been coaxed into discovering the
joys
of gentle touch, of love, of being
rocked
to heal her sense of balance. Learning
how
to come to dinner when called, to sit
and be picked up, to know that she's
come
into the protection of the whole
household,
not just the circled armor of one woman's
arms.
She's been visiting at the nursing
center
twice a week, allowing strangers to
stroke
her, calling her by the wrong name
since
they never remember hers from visit to
visit.
She hears them call her gorgeous,
pretty,
sweet. The elders see her as their doll
baby, warmth and silk for their
loneliness.
She's been blessed, unlike your winsome
daughter. You've put her lovely face
under
a too tight chignon, and you deem my
dog
unworthy of her instant adoration. This
child's recognition of another who
needed
love and acceptance, who longed for a
place
where anything is possible, and found
it--
was it more than your heart could bear?
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