Tuesday, April 29, 2025, 35.0* Sun Rising
A Blue-headed Vireo sings into the frost-painted morning. Now at my desk, blinds closed, coffee cooling I'm still able to see the outline of trees playing peekaboo with the sun. The three have returned to dreams. Ruger will not sleep deeply now lying in the hall opening his eyes when I move, wagging his tail when I look at him.
I remember the drive on an October day 2014, to Arkansas from Oklahoma to a private home that sheltered abused dogs for the court each dog waiting for their owner’s trial; except for Ruger and sister not knowing what brought them there. Bruce should have known better than to give me the map. I’m not a map reader, not a navigator. The print is too small even with a magnifying glass.
The prize-winning German Shepherd owner could not pedigree the litter with a mystery father. She had given away all the pups except Ruger the runt and a female whose ears flopped. She hoped her friend who offered the court temporary shelter for abused dogs could find them a place.
Ruger looked like a miniature with full-size ears, ears like radar stations. We stopped several times to take him for a walk. He only wanted to explore. He peed on me when we were almost home. Zara, the Great Dane, thought Ruger a wonderful toy. He was a baby taken a 2nd time from a place he’d grown accustomed, where he felt safe. He cried at night until I wrapped him in a towel, placed him beside me on the sofa, woke to him pulling my hair.
Finally, all of you, be like-minded,
be sympathetic,
love one another,
be compassionate and humble.
1 Peter 3:8
Photo: LJ Austin “Zara and Ruger”
