More snow, more dogs.

We had more snow yesterday. There's something close to a foot sitting in Bellingham right now. Yesterday, Jon and Zack went into town to see how things were. I got them to take me with them in the truck. It really handles well in the snow. I wouldn't want it; I would hate to drive it. However in the snow, it's really useful.

In any case we went in and I went to the Y they went to the grocery store. On the way home, we had just turned onto Oriental Avenue when I saw Lily and her human. I had John slowdown in the world on the window. Lily! I called out. Lily came towards me. It had been two months since I'd seen her. However that meant nothing to her. I don't know what people talk about when I say dogs have no memory. It seems insane. Lily was happy to see me; Lily jumped the sound of my voice recognizing it before did. I gave her a good rumple, and had to keep her from joining us in the truck right then. However, once we're home I get everything out of the car, I headed back for real visit.

Lily and Ozma are sisters under the for. The first time in that they both went to the deep play bow --deep deep bending till their front bellies touched the ground and their jaws were almost flat to. And they jumped up and Lily cocked her head to the side, her usual first play move. Lily spun in circle which was her usual first play move. Ozma launched for Lily's legs; Lily jumped in a circle, bouncing off my thighs like a pinball. Then the chase began.

In any case, I explained to Lily, and was hospitalized, and why she wasn't there. I got choked up again, of course, but that wasn't the real surprise. The real surprise was how moved everyone else has been. I know I keep saying it, but it's still true.

So sympathetic, making suggestions for how to get over the loss of the dog. It seems like everyone carries around these furry wounds in their heart. If they get this way over dogs, how must it be your people? Or maybe they really do love their dogs more.

I've been thinking about trying to be more methodical about this -- this blog about Ozma. This story, this remembering, this homage.

I guess I'd say my relationship with Ozma fell into four categories category one: I don't know you. During this time hospital was an alien thing a kind of living toy for person I didn't know. Category two: I get to know her. This is the time of the early on W.'s. Category three the real W's. C tegory four: Ozma gets sick. Category five: after her death. The endless W.

Upon reflection, I guess I'd compress category two and three for ease of reference. It was more of a gradual spectrum of any kind of firm delineation there. I'll start trying to address these different categories tomorrow.

In any case, Ozma would love the snow. That's all.

Greg