People often tell me that I’ve changed, but I know better.
People can grow and learn but they can’t ever change who they really are. That’s bad news for some folks who are happy to think I am a new person. But I’m not a used car, I can’t just go out and get a new me, and I wouldn’t want to.
Underneath, I’m still crazy and subject to fits of madness. I had one of those last night.
I can just work on keeping the old one in shape and learning. I was reminded of the inner me this morning. I had a dream. In the dream, I decided that Bud needed to be rescued, that he needed to come home.
I kept thinking of that soulful face, he seems to be speaking to me, and quite often I think I hear him saying “bring me home, come and get me.” I understand that this is a kind of dementia, Bud has no idea who I am or what his new home is like and I imagine he is delighted to be living with Carol Johnson, one of the angels of the Friends Of Homeless Animals hopeless dogs rescue group, of which I am a fervent supporter.
The thing about me is that I know Bud is where he should be, and there is no better place on earth for a sick dog – or any dog – than with Carol Johnson, she spoils Bud rotten every day, and he loves sleeping in her bed and eating her chips.
There, he plays with other foster dogs, steals bags of Jalapeno chips and the other stuff they eat down in Arkansas and gives Carol the Stinkeye when she snatches them away from him.
Bud has just lost his favorite playmate, a feisty chihuahua being shipped north for adoption. But there are lots of other homeless dogs to hang out with. And But will be ready to come soon, only weeks away.
Bud will love Fate, my spirited and unique border collie. I hope he loves us too. I’ve never had an unhappy dog, I can spoil them as easily as Carol, and nobody can top Maria when it comes to indulging animals, she brings the chickens and donkeys gourmet treats several times a day, sings to them, coos at them.
Fate is an accomplished food thief, the Pink Panther of dogs, you never see her or catch her or hear her, the chicken sausages and grass-fed beef just sometimes vanish off the kitchen counter without a trace, even when guarded by plates and pans.
Fate will happily teach Bud what he has not yet learned in his innocence, just look at that face, he is without guile. What a team they will make, I imagine him snoring next to Red and me while I write.
In my fantasy, I show up at Carol’s house, swoop Bud up in my arms and rush to the airport for a flight home. That is as far as the dream gets. If Carol objects, I wouldn’t know, she isn’t in the dream.
My life has always been notorious for my impatience and impulsiveness and eagerness to break rules. Just ask Maria. If I have to wait a week to do something I want to do, it seems like an unbearable eternity to me. I think the world is conspiring to thwart me, and sometimes it is.
Bud, who is being treated for heartworm disease (It is no longer legal in most states to transport a dog with heartworm out of state). He’ll be here in October. And I am learning that I can wait, I can be patient, I can stifle my impulses and tame them.
This is good news, for me, for Bud. Still, I wonder about the flights to Arkansas.