It’s been a half-dozen years since Ben and I walked down the aisle together. I’ve made some mistakes in my life, but marrying Ben wasn’t one of them. He’s been there for me through thick and thin, in sickness and in health, and more the former than the latter. Being sick isn’t fun; I’m not going to lie about that. No, it stinks, plain and simple. Ben will agree; nothing will screw up your life or relationship like a stroke. However, Ben gives me the strength to get up and do what must be done — like the dishes. Like walking our Zamboni, even when she’s refused to poo for an entire day like she did today. Like cleaning out my closet. (Ugh.) Like driving to the airport to rendezvous with him in Las Vegas after spending the previous night driving all around Boulder in search of an all-night pharmacy because I was in pain. (I had a urinary tract infection.)
I love you, Ben. Tying the knot with you was the best decision I’ve ever made. (It’s also the quickest decision I ever made; I said “Yes” before you even got out the whole question.)
Instead of posting wedding photos, I’m going to share with you some goings-on of the last month or so. After all, It’s these moments that make me fall in love with you all over again.
Hiking down Ridge Road, heading east:
We live in such a beautiful place, it sometimes seems criminal!
Where’s the beef?
(It’s on the upper right horizon. Chaco said hello and Zamba wanted to.)
Welcome! I made this in the mosaics class I took at the Mother Earth Gallery in downtown Nederland.
Zamba and Chaco relax in the shade while on the church hike I organized:
These are the things that make me fall in love with you again, lovie.
Nothing turns me on like a big tongue!
Thank you for six fantastic years, sweetie. Here’s to sixty more!
I took Chaco and Zamba for a walk/hike yesterday. I’ve discovered a new trail behind ‘Ben’s Rock Pile’ in the National Forest. It’s beautiful! It’s about three miles long, and goes down a steep hill to a river, which the dogs LOVE.
Yesterday, as I often do, I let the pups off leash when we reached the forest. It’s somewhat dicey; Zamba tends to ignore me when I call her, and she’s wont to take her time. She ambles around the forest, smelling anything that Chaco has, but for much longer. She’s still got high latency; tell her to do anything, like sit, and she’ll stand there with her tongue hanging out looking like she doesn’t understand you AT ALL for about five seconds. Then she’ll [usually] sit.
But yesterday, Zamba emerged from the woods with a stick, or so I thought. I started to become puzzled when she didn’t drop it. She carried it about a half mile when I ran into friends from church and their dog, Roo, an escape artist. She’s dug herself out of just about everything — crate, car, etc. “Oh my goodness!” Susan exclaimed when Zamba came into view. “She found a bone!”
“Yeah, she’s been carrying it around for quite a while,” I responded, thinking nothing of it. A quarter of a mile later, Zamba was still carrying that thing around, and I got curious. Why had she referred to it as a “bone”, not a stick? I looked down at Zamba’s treasure. Then I noticed what it really was.
She’d found a deer or antelope foreleg.
And my goodness, did she carry her gem well. We got down to the river; she went swimming with it. We climbed up the hill from the river and Chaco started to chase her; Zamba deftly dodged him. I didn’t have to encourage her like I usually do; “Zamba, let’s go!” was all it took to get her to pick the leg back up and get going. She carried it all the way home. Three miles.
The only time she dropped it was in our front yard; the tall grass prevented her from carrying it out. I picked it up and tossed it into the driveway, where she immediately reclaimed her job of carrying it. She pranced into our living room, obviously proud of it. I shooed her onto the porch and went to retreive both Ben and some water.
She was keen on chewing on the bone, but she was also very thirsty. She put it down for about thirty seconds to go slop up the rest of the water in the bowl; Chaco took the opportunity to sniff the bone. Oh my goodness, that was not a good move. I thought World War 3 was breaking out. She turned around and barked loudly — in a no-nonsense growly kind of bark — and Chaco backed away, obviously not keen on inducing such a reaction from his sister.
Getting her to LEAVE it on the porch was another tricky thing. She wanted to bring it inside; to sleep with it, to keep it warm. Ben and I thought it was rather gross and didn’t want it left in our kitchen. I had visions of Zamba falling asleep with it, Chaco stealing it, and being woken up at 3am as he tried to bury it in our bed. No, it was staying outside. Sorry, Zamboni.
Ben grabbed a paper towel and tried to take the hoof from Zamba. She curled her paw around it as if to say, “Hey! That’s mine! I carried it three miles, and you’re not touching it!” Ben gave her a look, however, and Zamba released it. Then he gave it back.
“I just wanted to make sure you knew who’s boss,” he explained. “Ok, let’s go!” Zamba looked bewildered. Her head bounced between the hoof and Ben, trying to figure out whether to stay outside with her fortune or come inside with Ben. Eventually, she grabbed the hoof and walked over toward Ben. “I don’t think so, Missy,” Ben said sternly. So she dropped the hoof on the porch and came inside.
