so, it actually snowed {life}

The dogs approached the snow in three different ways. Thea: trepidation. Violet: patience. Lucy: total and complete spazz out.

The dogs approached the snow in three different ways. Thea: trepidation. Violet: patience. Lucy: total and complete spazz out.

frozen branches.jpg

I should probably start this post with the pictures I took at the oceanfront Tuesday afternoon. No coat, milky sunshine, breeze picking up. But still. I was at the beach without a coat on on a Tuesday afternoon in late January taking pictures and completely doubting that this white stuff would ever show up.

It was 56º when I got in my car to drive home (we live about 18 miles from where I'd had a lunch meeting and had been snapping shots) and it was 39º when I pulled into my driveway. Once the temps dropped and the wind picked up, I started to actually believe.

I love snow. Apparently I don't need a kid at home to get excited to impending storms and arriving flakes and the hope for a snow day. (No snow day for Cal by the way. They got snow in RIchmond from this storm, but the General Assembly was still in session, so he had to work.)

It was an overnight storm for us with most of the snow coming while we slept. The best part of the night for me came right before bedtime, when Cal usually calls. His curfew is at 10:30, so he generally checks in each evening for a few minutes before heading to bed. We're usually really sleepy when he calls, and last night Neel was sound asleep!

I grabbed my phone and snuck over to Cal's room which looks out onto our street. As he and I chatted, the wind howled and the snow blew, all gently lit by the street lamp right outside his window. The only thing that would have made it more perfect would have been to have had Cal tucked in beside me, but he's so happy where he is. I was pretty okay just talking to him and watching the snow alone.

The medical school where Neel teaches and does his research was closed yesterday. He and I got up and took a quick, windy, chilly walk around the block (my fingers were fro-zen by the time we got home), and then we pretty much separated for the rest of the day, each to our own endeavors. Dinner, some wine, a movie, some dogs on the sofa. I joked in a comment on Erin's blog that if this is retirement, SIGN ME UP.

I only have one question. When's the next storm?

the dog who lived {life}

looking for Cal...

looking for Cal...

sister love. one of Vi's all time favorite things.

sister love. one of Vi's all time favorite things.


Violet has been asking all weekend when she was going to get her blog post. She's also been saying, "I'm the dog who lived," ever since last Friday, enough times that Cal started to get quite irritated with her.  She says she can't help it.

She's the dog who lived. (See her little crooked leg in that last photo? That's the one that's most impacted by the tumor, but Neel's decided that it's like Harry Potter's lightning bolt scar. We can, perhaps, take a metaphor too far.)

I did go back and reread that entry, and it's funny to me how much of Violet's perkiness has stuck with her in light of her diagnosis. And let's face it, she does get perks the other dogs don't get. When she was first diagnosed and we thought she just had days or, at best, weeks to live, we gave her all sorts of treats from the table. Bits of steak, bites of chicken. chips, nibbles of bacon. You name it, she deserved it, right?

Violet says, "Right!"

So while that gravy train did slow down a bit as it became clear that she was longer for the world than we anticipated, she still has dinner privileges that the others don't. Like sitting in the room with us while we eat dinner. Or sitting under Neel when we have dinner in front of the TV. And she may or may not have had a significant bit of pork chop last Friday, her anniversary. But who's counting?

She's the voice for all of the dogs. "We're ready to come in now." "We'd like to sleep in this morning (every morning)." "Lucy's bad." (She says that one a lot.) And while she may be sick, she's still large and in charge. Lucy and Thea are the ones who scrap, but they're fighting for second place. Violet is clearly the Alpha Dog of the house. The other girls go to their kennels when it's time; Violet waits to walk with you. The other girls leave the room when you tell them "out!" Violet takes two tiny steps closer to you.

Things have changed since her diagnosis. She has to be carried up and down steps (although we make her manage the three steps into the back yard on her own), and she does her house guarding most often from the comfort of her bed (Bark!). She's regularly in a diaper now (which she'd prefer I didn't mention), and she's on more meds than a grandma. She likes to be carried outside in the mornings (all our dogs are late sleepers, not that I'm complaining, but WTH?), and she's clearly slow to get started. Once up and moving though, she does pretty well.

She never complains. We discovered a few weeks ago, much to our dismay, that she'd been fighting a bladder infection for quite some time, and not a peep out of her. Some slowing down, sure, which we attributed to the cancer, but no real signs of misery. Our vet says it's because she's the best dog ever, and we're happy now to see that she's so improved. She'd still like a pork chop however, pleaseandthankyou.

She loves animals and has a total menagerie in our back yard. Flower the buffalo, Petal the raccoon, three ducks named Huey, Dewy, and Louie, and every time she hears about a new animal, she wants it. All this talk about Bao Bao at the National Zoo? Well, Violet wants a panda named Bow Wow. And as soon as she hears about Rooth's horse? Well, I'm worried. She draws the line at kittens though.

She still loves girly stuff and wanted a tiara for Christmas. With this in mind, you can't be surprised that she's looking forward to the figure skating at the Olympics. All! Those! Pretty! Dresses!

She has, however, been quite angry with me and Neel lately. Accusing us of "forgetting" Cal in Richmond the past two weeks. And this Sunday we just let some man drive away with him! Seriously? With Cal gone she sits on her bed and stares at us all evening long. She does concede that with her boy out of the house, there's more room on the sofa and therefor, more opportunity for "lappy."

Sweet girl, as long as you're asking for "lappy," mine is yours for the taking.


The dog who lived...

The dog who lived...