Friends

Elsie taught me something about friendship today.

Though Elsie (our yellow Lab puppy) rough houses and races with Baxter, our adolescent Lab, and though the two of them spend hours outdoors enjoying each other's company, when it comes to finding a snuggle companion Elsie prefers Ridge. Ridge is the older-wiser of the crew. At four years of age, he's the grownup. I'm not sure why Elsie prefers him at sleep time, but it's been that way since she came to our home.

It seems like Elsie has two kinds of friends: Baxter, the fun friend, the peer with whom she plays and teases and giggles (do dogs giggle?) and Ridge, the friend with whom she feels secure.

Again I marvel at how our canine companions reflect our human lives. I have friends with whom I laugh and play. I also have friends with whom I wrestle through life's issues. And then there are friends to whom I turn for comfort and reassurance. And, though few and far between, I have friends who can be all of these things and more.

Unlike Elsie, I've been blessed with companions who can fill these roles for me simultaneously: individuals who can be my playmates, my counselors, my comforters, and my safe havens, all wrapped up into one. These are my lifetime friends, my eternal friends, the ones who love me warts and all. The one's with whom I laugh and feel safe.

Elsie reminds me, however, that even with these friends--the friends who can be all things to me--there is a season for everything: for laugher, for play, for work, for discussion, for rest, for encouragement, and yes, even for tears. There may even be times to just be still and enjoy being together.

As I think about my friendships (and Elsie's "friendships" with Baxter and Ridge), I'm reminded that it's been too long since we (my buds and I) hung out together and did nothing. I'm also reminded that too much time has passed since we just had fun! I think it may be time to schedule some "do nothing" time. And maybe we'll laugh together along the way. :o)

I'm also reminded of how little I've given thanks for my friends. I'm grateful for comrades who meet different needs in my life. I'm grateful for what I learn from each. And I'm particularly thankful for those rare few that serve as Baxter AND Ridge and all those other roles to me.

How easy it is to take them for granted. Well, today, thanks to Elsie's reminder, I'm grateful for each one.

Thanks, Elsie. And thanks, my friends (you know who you are).

'Til next time,
Joan

Ridge at the door. "Can I come in?"

Please, Let Me In

When Ridge came to live with us he was three years old. We purchased him as a sire investment in our dream to pursue small-scale breeding one day. He had many traits we were looking for:

strong hunting lines and retrieving instincts
athleticism
intelligence
beauty
graceful lines and stature
fox red color (the far end of the yellow Lab breed standard)
proven siring abilities
tolerance for other dogs
a love for people

He also came with traits we didn't expect:

higher energy than any Lab we'd ever known
incredible patience with puppies
fear of thunderstorms and firecrackers
a preference for people over others of his kind
excitability unlike any Lab we'd ever known
the ability to stand upright on his hind legs (like a bear)

At first we thought his puzzling characteristics hinted at the trauma he went through leaving his original home, the one he'd known his whole life, to come to ours.

Then we thought his behaviors were a kind of canine anxiety disorder. Hence, our fond ribbing about Ridge being "slightly neurotic."

Now we know better. I think Ridge's energy, excitability with people, need to be with two-legged friends, and preference for humankind are symptomatic of a single, heart-warming trait: Ridge is filled with the desire to please. He wants approval: nothing more, nothing less.

For months I misread him. I didn't understand (though I loved) his quirky ways. But I'm realizing now that all he's wanted all this time was for us to let him into our hearts.

Well, we have. Completely. He's one of us now. And Ridge seems to know it, too. He's less "neurotic" and more secure in our love. He belongs.

Welcome home, Ridge. The door's wide open.

'Til next time.
Joan

The Elsie girl at seven months (February, 2005) 

Elsie and the boys today (February, '05) 

Seasons: A Photo Essay of Elsie

Elsie doesn't look much like a puppy anymore. At seven months old, her frame seems far more adolescent than puppyish. She's growing, and that's as it should be. Though I miss her puppy season, this new season brings different joys. Yes, this season, like all seasons, brings change and challenges, but I wouldn't trade them.

Life is that way, too. Again, we're in a season of change. Our children are phasing out of the nest into life on their own: Two are legally adults, one will be so in just nine months. But, like Elsie, they need us in ways unique to this season: help with car troubles, financial support, career and college counsel, how to prepare taxes.

I do miss their "puppy" seasons. But I wouldn't want them to be puppies (or children) forever. That's not how it's designed to be. This new season brings its challenges, but it brings far deeper delights. How grateful I am for how each child has grown and for who they're turning out to be.

The same could be said for Elsie.

I'm glad for seasons. How boring life would be without them.

'Til next time.
Joan

Eight-week old Elsie with Nelliephant. Once she played with her toys. Now she de-stuffs them.  

Elsie no longer sits when she eats. Today, she sits on command to receive her food, but she stands to inhale it. :o) 

Ridge and Elsie wrestled then; they wrestle now, too. Some things never change. 

Elsie loved to sleep in our arms. Now she's just too big to do so. 

Baxter and Elsie liked sharing the loveseat when they both could fit there.  

Elsie loved belly rubs then; she still loves them now. 

Ridge shared his bones with Elsie when she was a pup. Now he hides from her when he has them. 

She and Ridge are still buds, though. 

Slumbering Elsie

Rest

All three dogs play hard, eat with gusto, and sleep soundly. Most of the time, that is. Once in a while some threatening noise or commotion will rouse them from their slumber (firecrackers, thunder, a knock at the door), but most of the time Baxter, Elsie, and Ridge rest quietly. I suspect that's because they feel safe and secure.

Elsie's face when she's asleep (see photo above) is a picture of serenity. Her peaceful rest reminds me of what my children experienced when they were small. The kids felt safe and secure then. They, too, rested undisturbed.

Dan, Sarah, and Jon (our human children) are grown now, or nearly so. Life brings bumps in the road that rob them of sleep. I suppose that's the way of it. We rest secure in our parents' protections, but we grow up and find our own sources of security and rest. For me, a quiet heart and peaceful slumber come with knowing that, no matter what happens, I'm nestled in the hands of a loving God. The security I find in Him grants me sleep. It's a lesson I've learned after years of experiencing lifes bumps and bruises, but I know it to be true. I hope my children learn that lesson sooner than I.

In the meantime, we can always look at Elsie when she sleeps. Her peace reminds us that we, too, can sleep soundly. If only we'll remember Who holds us in His arms.

'Til next time,
Joan

Welcome home, Mom! 

Welcome Home

Fifteen months ago we were Lab-less. Our two previous faithful friends--Stoney, our 15-year-old Black Lab female, and Strider, our 12-year-old Yellow Lab male --passed on within six months of each other. And for a full six months we had no dogs.

For a second or two (okay, maybe a few weeks, but it seems like a second now), I felt relieved. Certainly, I grieved Stoney's loss (Strider died six month earlier), but I celebrated that she no longer suffered. And, honestly, it was nice to not have to work so hard to keep the house clean. No dogs=no shedding. No shedding=less vaccuuming. And I could actually Windex our back door, and its full-length glass pane stayed crystle clean.

Relief, however, gave way to void. No dogs also equalled no one to fetch the ice I dropped from the ice dispenser whenever I filled my glass. No dogs meant no one to keep my feet warm on cool summer evenings (let alone winter nights). No dogs meant little to giggle over in our work-a-day existence. And no dogs meant no one would be here to welcome me when I came home.

My comings and goings usually happen during the day when my husband and oldest son are at work and my youngest son is in high school (my daughter is out-of-state at college). I come home to a person-less house. When we had Stoney and Strider, at least I didn't come home to an empty house. For those six months after Stoney died I came home to echoing silence.

I lasted six months. :o) Our dog-less house felt way too sterile; it was just too clean. And it was quiet. Too quiet. So we found Baxter, then seven-weeks-old, to fill the void. Six months later we added then-three-year-old Ridge. But our growing family seemed incomplete. We needed a "girl." Sweet Elsie joined the fray when she was eight weeks old. Now, five months into our three-Lab experiment, the house feels full and alive again.

Sure, it's work. The back door never stays clean. And, of course, the three "kids" have to have different shedding cycles so it seems we're in a perpetual shed. But our wiggling, welcoming critters have become our giggle factor. They bring life and joy to our lives.

And when I get home, all three let me know I'm loved. I wouldn't have it any other way.

'Til next time,
Joan

Affection

"Ridge" is our four-year-old yellow Lab with a gorgeous fox-red coat. He also happens to be quite neurotic (for a Lab, anyway). I suppose he has reason to be so.

Ridge didn't come to live with us until he was three years old. He came from the same breeder from whom we acquired our black Lab, Baxter, at seven weeks of age. The breeder decided to transition from field lines to show lines in the kind of Lab they wanted to produce, so Ridge, a strong field line sire, no longer fit their bill. After living with his previous owners since he was was a young pup, the three-year-old was up for grabs.

His sweet temperment and coloring captured our hearts. And he fit our lifestyle, dreams, and plans quite nicely. We'd already had Baxter neutered because of a significant malocclusion (overbite), but we still hoped to start a responsible, small-scale breeding endeavor one day. With strong hunting lines and his own field work started, Ridge was our sire investment. The day we met him, we fell in love with him and brought Ridge to his new home.

Ridge transitioned nicely overall, but we had some concerns. It naturally took him a while to feel secure here and to stop waiting for his former owners, who clearly loved him and treated him well. And it took time for him to love us, his new family. We were, after all, complete strangers. We spent hours and hours and hours trying to help him acclimate: one-on-one time; training time; snuggle time on the couch; taking him for rides in the car; giving him time with Baxter; giving him crate time to help him feel at home. What he needed more than anything else, it seemed, was affection.

Our eighteen-year-old daughter captured it this way: "I've never seen a dog more needy!" she observed after spending the day alone with the dogs. "Needy" described Ridge's behavior almost perfectly. Despite his regal bearing, athleticism, and dominance over the other Labs in our home, he needed to be stroked and touched and hugged. Talking wouldn't do; it had to be physical contact.

Ridge moans and grunts. (I've never heard a dog moan like Ridge does). His vocalizations testify to his utter delight at being touched. He rolls on his back and squiggles under our caress. If we're sitting on the couch or in the lounge chair he jumps into our laps and tries to bury himself beneath us. We joke about Ridge needing to literally get beneath our skin.

I had my reservations during the first weeks of Ridge's adjustment; I wondered if he'd ever warm up to us. Today, nearly a year later, Ridge's affection for us has swung to the opposite end of the spectrum: he's so affectionate now that he's become "needy." ;o)

I'll take "needy" over aloof or standoffish any day. Ridge's affection (and need of it) warms our hearts and reminds us of the importance of touch.

Have you petted, scratched, or stroked your animals recently? Do your humans know your gentle touch? After all, we humans need physical contact, too. A gentle touch helps us feel wanted and secure. Affection helps us know we're valued. Just like Labs, we need to know we're loved!

Have you hugged a loved one today? Have you shown affection? Your significant others (people and pets) are waiting, as are mine.

A funny things happens, though, when we give affection, especially to our four-footed friends. We find affection in return. What a payoff for so little investment!

Hmmm. Sounds good to me. I think I'll go give Ridge a belly rub. :o)

'Til next time,
Joan

Affection can be sloppy sometimes! (Ridge kissing Joan's husband, Don)