Puppy Love

OK, I admit that is a super corny title, and I'm a little late in posting this, but Luna had her 15th birthday last week. I got Luna from the dog pound in Tucson. It was a depressing place, concrete pens with chain link. The dogs were variously hyper or mopey, but in one pen was the most beautiful dog, red and white and black, with long silky ears, and eyes that matched her red gold hair. And her angle was to sit as close as possible to the chain link and BEG you with her whole self to love her. I gave in without a fight.

She lived with me in Rochester, in my perm-smelling walk-up over the beauty salon. She lived with me in Red Wing, where she jumped into the water and swam for the first time, in the freezing Mississippi on a day that was eighteen below zero. She lived with me in St. Paul. She cried for WEEKS when Naomi came home from the hospital. She moved with us to Washington, and reacted much less dramatically when Muriel was born. Thankfully...

Right, so, fourteen years of Luna, is what I am celebrating this month. She is the best dog ever.


Birthday Popcorn Trail!


The girl in all her glory.