Peach’s pups are 8 days old. She’s a good mom, feeding and cleaning. She has also let it be known that she NEEDS the company of other dogs. So, she gets to walk with Murphy and Chief.
The predictableness of puppy growth is comforting. In a few days, their eyes will start to open. And they’ll start to hear the world around them. As much as I want them to be surrounded by the proverbial daisies and unicorns, I know that what makes them balanced pups is that they’ll experience life in a home. A vacuum cleaner, the washing machine, adult dogs barking. They’ll smell home cooked meals and air freshener. (BTW I’m not much of a cook or cleaner, but anything, for MY puppies…)
We’re transitioning from summer to fall in Petaluma. The predictableness of the dark evenings and still warmish temperatures is comforting. While I anticipate a wet winter, I love these days, knowing that we’ll have a few more hot ones, interrupted by cold nights, then winter will overtake us.
And fall reminds me that the 2nd Sunday of October always meant The Fair when I was growing up. Mom and I would spend this week before, making apple cider. Algebra homework had to wait, the soles of my shoes sticky from the night-before spills, embarrassing me in those high school hallways. Saturday was prep day – Grampa with his tape measure and stakes, laying out the vendor booths; the rush to finish up picking the last of the apples; Aunt Len orchestrating all from her Cushman, a dog at her side; the laughter, the stories, the traditions, the predictableness.
Peach’s pups will hit their milestones, adopters will line up, all will find their happily ever after, families completed.
And another seasonal transition will be upon us, and another mama dog in need will find her way to me, and another litter will be born, and we’ll do this all over again.