A Winter Gone to the Dogs

So much has transpired since I last made the effort to update this blog. To those few of you who actually still check once in a while to see if there's anything new to read, I apologize for my long hiatus. But sometimes it's true that the more things change, the more things stay the same, so no one here should be surprised to learn the common denominator in my life for these past 3 months could well be described as dog-related.

All the Youngers spent Christmas in Arizona, surrounded by seven canines, one for every human, and even at that, Lauren's 18-month-old Newfy pup, Lilo, stayed behind in Seattle. (For the time being anyway.) Afterwards, Bob and I left our two Newfs on the ranch with Terri and John, while we drove farther east to Albuquerque. We arrived in sync with the worst winter storm anyone in New Mexico could remember. Within hours, the airport and freeways were shut down, so we spent the next three days snowed in at the Hotel Albuquerque, attending our second Richard Rohr conference. It was tough sledding for some 300 conference registrants who couldn't get there, including four in our own party turned away in mid-air just 5-10 minutes from the airport. (Excuse me, in Albuquerque, they call it "the sunport.") But for those of us already in place, looking out on a winter wonderland from warm, Southwestern style rooms, equipped with broad-band wireless Internet, and just an elevator ride away from a nice restaurant, it was a different story. Personally, I was pretty much in heaven before Father Rohr said a word. But as we've come to expect, he took us a few big steps further in that direction. Funny that a couple of Lutherans should end up looking to a Franciscan priest for spiritual insight, but Rohr has provided exactly what we've found lacking in Protestant circles for the last several years: a deeper way of thinking and talking, a larger way of living. Here's a typical Rohr nugget: we don't think ourselves into new ways of living so much as we live our way into new ways of thinking. In other words, God speaks through our experiences to our inner selves, the real selves that usually can't wedge a word into the incessant mental babbling of our self-made, resume-polishing, public personae.

But back to the dogs. We drove home by way of Sierra Vista, where we picked up Terra and Charter, whom Terri had already happily converted into ranch dogs, making for a rather fragrant ride on to California and mandatory baths for both pups before either was allowed into the house. Within the next week, the Newf population at Terra Nova jumped to three when Lilo arrived from Seattle. At first, we considered it an extended visit, just long enough to give Lauren a break from the considerable demands of single puppy-parenting. But seeing Lilo blend seamlessly into our larger "pack" and quickly abandon a number of neurotic behaviors that had really begun to worry Lauren, confirmed her diagnosis of severe separation anxiety and convinced us all that Lilo belonged at Terra Nova for good. Lauren has since been down to visit her "baby girl," and pronounced her happy and well-adjusted, a denouement that helps ease the heartbreak of giving her up. In the meantime, Bob and I have had to adjust to Lilo's impressive repertoire of puppy antics, but we're wowed by her exuberance, intelligence and athleticism. Terra and Charter seem somewhat less in love with Lilo than we are, but they've been good sports about it, and if pressed, might actually admit she's a lot of fun to chase and wrestle with.

Finally, I have this astonishing dog-related news to report. EK and I went to Westminster! Yes, we were there, ringside no less, at the 131st episode of that granddaddy of all dog shows. We were there as the television cameras flashed live coverage from New York City's storied Madison Square Garden, images of the world's best-looking dogs and, in many cases, oddest-looking humans. We were part of the surreal interspecies insanity that inspired Christopher Guest's classic mockumentary, "Best in Show." It is a Camelot moment. An oxymoron of an event that gives people ordinarily consumed by slinging kibble, vacuuming fur, scrubbing slime and scooping poop a chance to don tuxes and sequins and show off their favorite canine companions under a nationwide spotlight.

For the uninitiated, let me try to explain the full glory of this experience. Sitting ringside at Westminster, not to mention partying with the judges and having your photo snapped with James, the dashing English springer spaniel crowned "best in show," is akin to sitting just behind the winning bench at the Superbowl, or midcourt for the NBA finals. And then partying with the triumphant team after the game. It's like sitting in the front row during the Oscars, on the aisle where the winners brush by you on their way to the podium. And then chatting it up with Helen Mirren, Jennifer Hudson and Martin Scorcese over drinks and hors d'ouevres afterward. It's like watching the Kentucky Derby from the owners' booth and then helping adjust the roses just so for the official photographs. I could go on.

Suffice it to say, it was a dream come true for both of us, made even sweeter by EK's own appearance on the green carpet with five other winners of Westminster Kennel Club scholarships for vet students--the reason for our trip and VIP treatment--and only slightly tarnished by our 3-day delay in flying home to California after a Valentine's Day ice storm shut down every New York airport. Snowed in twice in as many months! Hardly a typical winter for a Southerner turned Southern Californian. But a great one, especially for a dog lover.