The routine never varies. I let them up from the basement in the morning and they come up, stretching their dog stretches before I let them out one by one to tend to their necessary business. They come in and for the rest of the day, I have a dog at my heels. Michael takes two of them with him when he walks (we can’t let all three go at the same time because they would end up who knows where doing God knows what) and the one left behind sits at my feet while I write. When I go to feed the cows, the one left behind runs with me along side the four wheeler.
After morning exercise and chores, the dogs dognap on the back porch for the rest of the morning. Afternoon comes and the dogs go out one by one for a little outdoor time, running squirrels, porch sitting in the sun, barking at neighbors. All in all, its a good life for them and I have constant companions.
Most of my life someone has been doggin’ my heels. As a child, my father seemed to be omnipresent calling for help with farm work. My little sister was both companion and curse as most little sisters are. Most mothers are familiar with being unable to find sanctuary in the bathroom without a little voice raised in plaintive protest. Somewhere in the parenting process, turnabout comes and we begin to dog the heels of our children.
Dear One, I am giving you fair notice. Just for today, I am going to dog your heels praying for epiphany to come once again. I need a lot of starlight right now, light that will be my beacon for hopelovejoypeace. And if you could, Lord, a pat on the head would be greatly appreciated. Amen.
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