I’m not sure I’ve ever used the term in my books or on my blog, but I’ve started thinking of dogs as “heart” dogs, a term I hadn’t thought of before.

I’ve written about lifetime dogs and spirit dogs, but more and more, I think what I’m often speaking about is dogs that touch the heart and dogs whose hearts we can trust.

I’m thinking about this and how to write about it. This is the right time to have a heart dog. They lift hearts.

Zinnia is an excellent place to start. She touches my heart. She is either with me or waiting for me when I am at home, as in the photo above.

Her favorite place in the house is under the table next to my computer. She is curled up against my desk chair or sleeping with her head on my foot when she isn’t there.

These cold days are sometimes lonely and dank for me. Maria and I are both sensitive to the absence of color and light.

Maria is working hard in her studio, as she should be, and Covid has shut me out of the Mansion and Bishop Maginn for a while. I have plenty to do, but it feels eerie sometimes.

I’ve had to postpone a weekend vacation in Vermont with Emma and Robin and our families because of the Covid surge. The Amish are holed up building their new house.

It’s not safe for me to go out to eat, the movies, or visit friends for the next few weeks. Almost everyone we know has some form of Covid. I am grateful to have animals in the barn to visit. And photos to take.

It’s been a long time since I’ve spent any time with my daughter or granddaughter.

I am sure this will ease shortly, but it can be bleak at times.

I lost two friends this year to illness, a young friend had a stroke, which shocked everyone, and the country is freaking out over many things.

I’m in a reflective and contemplative mood. This silence is a beautiful experience for me, an opportunity to think and get to know myself.

I am happy to say I no longer had those deep and black depressions when I started the blog.

And I am very rarely depressed now and then, not for long.

But today was another gloomy rain, snow, and ice day, and I missed the sun and my flowers. I feel confined here on days like this. Then Maria shows up, and the sun is out, at least in my head. We always have things to say to each other.

This afternoon, we meditated together and listened to Gregorian Chant. The White Dog lay at my feet.

Sometimes,  the Black Dog comes and sits beside me on gloomy days, then the White Dog comes along and licks my face.

I have a lot to write about and a lot to do, but when you add subzero weather and days that get dark at 4:30, it can get dark in the soul.

I meditate, listen to music, cook with Maria, take very short walks, and write a lot. Ice storms are excellent for some picture taking, but it’s hard to be outside for too long.

The food thing looms large. We cooked red kidney beans and rice for dinner and did a stir-fry with a cozen kinds of chopped-up vegetables.

My breakfast was a smoothie with an apple, a banana, a cup of berries, a half cup of yogurt, some oat milk, some rolled oats, and some cinnamon.

Maria and I are having a great deal of fun re-thinking how we eat and think of food. We are a great team. Love makes me happy if I slip.

(rice and beans and tofu, and chopped veggies)

It was both filling and delicious. But back to the heart dog.

The idea and importance of a heart dog loom larger in chaotic times. Zinnia is an anchor, a fixed point in an ever-changing world. She doesn’t do stress or conflict, or fear.

She is a tension eater, a barrier against the human turbulence raging outside. I suppose she is a wall of some kind.

I can’t look at her without smiling, and she accepts me entirely and all of my odd and distinctive ways. She seems to know when to put her head in my hands as I write or when I need a dog’s head resting on my knee.

When I go out into the living room to read or listen to music, she somehow is always at my feet. I am not sure what I have done to deserve this, but it is grounding, reassuring, and energizing.

When I shower, she noses her way into the bathroom and lies down on the throw rug. It doesn’t bother her if the floor is wet. When I cook, she lies by my feet next to the stove.

Being with me is enough. Going outside to walk or chase a ball is great, but if we can’t, that’s okay too.

Tomorrow is Monday, and there is a lot for me to do. I’ll get sucked back into the world. I think I’ll run up to the Miller home and see if I can spare them a buggy ride into town to shop on these bitter cold days.

I thought this photo, taken in near-total darkness in my study, captured the feel and mood of the heart dog. She is waiting for me. She touches my heart, and it seems I touch hers.