Friday, May 22, 2015

The Art Of Being A Failure

I do not like to fail.  In fact, it still rankles my soul that I came in second in high jump at the all-city track and field day in 1967.  I like to get the gold star and not the silver.  

I have failed.

These are my failures.  Chloe is to the left and Darla is to the right These two are puppy mill mamas who have lived most of their five years in wire cages. I am fostering them for a local rescue so that they can be adopted by families.

If the head of the rescue were to call today and say that she had found loving families for these two, I would tell her that I had sent them to a luxury dog camp in the Swiss Alps, and that I didn't expect them back until the 31st of June (Thirty days has September, April...).  I would sneak them over the border into Canada, traveling north until cell reception was no longer possible. I would send them off to Maryland with my youngest, and let them take on new identities as mascots for McDaniel College.

This face has told me that she is staying right here. She likes the food and the company.

This one pretends to be sleeping each time I try to bring up the discussion of a possible move. 

Rory, one of our own, says they can stay as long as they keep their paws off the good chew toys.  

Winnie, also ours, says that if you keep your eyes closed, it's like they aren't even here.

How much bed space do I really need?

They have even offered to share theirs with me.

I guess everyone needs to accept a little failure into their lives.

Prairie Sherry

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