I’m staying in a house with three dogs, two cats, one bird, nine adults, and one baby.
I saw three confederate flags today on the way to a park, which should be a sign of how far from home I am.
I’m having a little difficulty concentrating. My mom is talking out loud to herself as she is trying to forward an email. The baby is crying as her parents, (my brother and sister in law), try to put her down to bed. The movie Frozen is on as everyone tries to decide where we’re eating dinner tomorrow, and I’m trying to keep an eye on Peanut so he doesn’t murder the cats or get into a smack down with the puppy. To top it all off I’ve been waiting silently for the last several minutes to repay my brother with a wet willy. You know, because we’re children and not grown adults with responsibilities.
This is what I call the joy of togetherness.
It’s Easter weekend and for my family that means we gather into the car and take a two hour drive out into no man’s land to visit close friends of the family. The type of friends who are more like relatives, and the type of weekends that are filled with food and a whole lot of laughs.
Even though Easter in the country has become a tradition it is one that I usually miss out on. For the last four years my parents have been calling me up on the phone and bragging on how I’m missing out. Of course with the exception of last year when both my parents came down with a nasty cold. Karma perhaps?
My aunt was actually with me when I saw Peanut for the first time. It was when she also met her secod dog, Buster. When the shelter’s volunteer went to take Buster out of his cage he wouldn’t even walk. He was too scared. The volunteer carried him into the room and he cowered in the corner, and began to shake. Buster is a beautiful golden retriever mix, and it broke all of our hearts to see such a gorgeous animal be so frightened.
It was obvious that my mom and I weren’t capable of taking care of Buster, but my aunt being the kind soul she is, fell in love. We adopted the dogs right before Thanksgiving, and I had not seen the dog since that day in the shelter. We all thought she was crazy for adopting him but if it weren’t for people like her, dogs like Buster would be overlooked.
It’s not a fairy tale story. Buster didn’t magicially start becoming social. He barks at every sound, and is skiddish around strangers or other dogs. We took the dogs for a walk in a nearby park, and I turned to my aunt and said, “imagine what he must have been treated like in his past to be this scared.” He kind of reminds me of the magnolia trees I talked about in yesterday’s post. We all have a past, and in Buster’s case we’re not privy to the details. We can physically see how his past impacts him, but he’s lucky enough to have my aunt to look past it and give unconditional love.
I guess what I’m trying to say is that sometimes we’re Buster and sometimes we are my aunt, and both are okay. May you all find the love you’re looking for this weekend.