This morning as I was carrying a large pile of laundry I stepped on the paw of our dog who was lying in the doorway. She loves to lie between rooms, perhaps increasing the chances of interactions. Usually I am aware of this tendency, but this morning I was focused on the wash. Fortunately, she was not injured and I didn’t fall down. But it did cause me to reflect on the reality that I have lived almost all of my life with dogs in the house.
In a way it is odd that so many of us share our indoor lives with animals. In my case, it has always been both dogs and cats, though allergies of my husband limit me now to dogs. My parents owned a dog before I was born, and I was introduced to her right away. Cinder, pictured above, was a black cocker spaniel who happily made the move from the Brooklyn apartment to the beaches of Oregon. Here I am immensely amused that Cinder now has a gray nose from the sand. I have been burying rocks and she has been digging them up.
Cinder was a docile dog, happy to stay close to home, usually in the house. She remained healthy for many years and had several litters of puppies. Somehow, we always found homes for the pups. The 50’s seemed much more casual about dogs. Maybe because there were so many kids there was always a home that could use another dog.
Tomorrow we meet one of these litters.