Chaos in the Carr: The backyard. And dogs.

We have a large backyard, but it's nothing fancy--just a large expanse of green grass (and not a few weeds that get mowed down to look like grass on a weekly basis). I associate the yard with our dogs, present and past, and I never go out there without thinking of the dogs we now miss.

I always think of Yellow, who constantly carried around the yellow, smiley-face soccer ball that my dad bought for him at Wal-Mart, and I always think of Smokey, who spent countless hours in Terry's garden, ripping up tomato plants and chasing rabbits and snakes. Bernie's yard-related obsession was sticks. When she first arrived, I spent time outside with her alone so that she could get lots of attention and not feel overwhelmed by the other dogs. (It is possible for a 200-lb. dog to feel insecure.) So, I threw sticks for her to chase, and, boy, did she take to that activity.

I don't dwell on sad thoughts, though. It's too happy a place to do that. Instead, I enjoy the current canine regime's yard antics, and there is much to enjoy. I miss Smokey every day in brief moments of penetrating sadness; my soul mate was a dog--what can I say? However, it would be a challenge, indeed, to remain sad around these clowns. To them, I owe much of the love in my house that overwhelms me on a daily basis. And, much of the poop. My dogs have always been my go-to confidants and co-conspirators.

Echo and I