Phone Pictures

I am trying to free up some memory on my phone, so I have downloaded the past few months worth of pictures from my phone onto the computer. I LOVE having a camera with me all the time. So although the quality isn't the best, some of these are too priceless not to share.
2 Feet of Springtime
This is Kiste and Max enjoying their gigantic back yard at Dad's condo. This is the whole thing...

Fox Mulder
This is my sweet horse, Fox, who is no longer dying of hepatitis... He is feeling much better. Honk at him when you drive by the vet...

4 Babies in the Morning
This is a typical Sunday morning view from my bed: you might notice 2 dogs and 2 cats. They congregate, every morning, but we get to actually spend quality time on Sundays.

Law and Order: K-9
Ah, look at those faces!!! It almost makes you want to grant them early parole...


Now, I warn you: before you scroll down to the next picture, you must be prepared for the epitome of girl and dog bonded-ness, for a glimpse at true joy and peace, and the biggest "awwwwww" ever...

Now this photo is slightly staged in that I had actually heard the alarm on my phone and reached over to grab it as gently as I could without waking Kiste. I switched it to camera and took this photo before I opened my eyes-- I just wanted to see how cute she was.

A Dog and her Girl

Love. True love, this.

A Job Where Things Die

Katie said to me tonight, "I'm sorry you have a job where you have to see things die." But I think that I'm not sorry. It is an honor and a privilege. I have touched on this a little before, but tonight I am very sure of one thing: the moment when a spirit leaves or enters a body is truly sacred. I spent the last 4 hours of my work day tonight sitting at the side of a special little dog named Pepper. Pepper has been coming to see us at RiverWoods for years, and has become one of "our" dogs. He has struggled with all sorts of ailments, but his loving family has supported and cared for him through them all. He came in a few days ago with autoimmune hemolytic anemia. We performed a blood transfusion today and he was doing very well until about 5. Then he just took a turn for the worse. There seems to be a moment with animals that are very ill when their spirit starts to pull away from their body. It is an almost physical change that comes over them. You can see it first in their face. The only way I can describe it is that they stop looking through their eyes. Whatever it is inside of us that makes us alive, whether we are human, dog, cat, or even lizard, can be seen in the eyes. I have watched it flicker and go out enough times now to recognize it. Pepper was still inside his dying body for a long while tonight. He was there long enough for his family to arrive and comfort him, to say goodbyes, and to look into his face while he was still looking back. But there was an instant-- a split second when the part of that soul that made him "Pepper" left. His heart was still beating, his lungs still struggled for air, but he had left, and he stopped looking back at us through his eyes. No matter what religious background I may have, no matter what belief of spirit or soul or eternity, no matter what loss and sadness I have felt, I have undeniably experienced and seen the exit of the living part of a being, whether or not the physical body died at that same moment. And that is truly an honor. I was privileged to literally hear his heart's last beat, feel his last breath enter his body, and look into his soul the last time through his earthly eyes. It is a moment of terrible emptiness-- mostly for our own loss. But I think that part of it is that we are looking into an empty, abandoned shell which was once home to a spirit we knew so well. I have the greatest reverence for life, a reverence for it's end, which truly is, I believe, only a beginning.

The End of "Never Saw Blue"

My sweet little blue jeep, "Never Saw Blue," died last night. I was driving home from Salt Lake and there was a terrible sputtering and cloud of black smoke as all the dials on the dash suddenly dropped to zero. Based on the diagnostics today, basically the mechanic's words were "your engine is shot. You could replace it for only $3000, or sell it for scrap." I have known this day would come. Based on recent luck, I have been waiting for it, especially since she became "Paid in Full." This does not make it easier. I am devastated. I am heartbroken. I am completely unable to get to Target for cocaine cupcakes to see me through this trauma.

You see, I love my jeep. I have wanted a Wrangler for as long as I remember. Well, that is not quite true. For a long time I wanted a black Trans Am. But then I got out of elementary school, and my taste changed, just a bit. See, with a jeep you can go anywhere. You can drive around with nothing above you but the cloudless, starry sky; you can drive on rugged, muddy roads; you can risk your life 3 inches from a buffalo at Yellowstone with nothing but open air between you. Granted, the jeep I drove was basically a tin can on wheels-- nothing extra inside (especially since my stereo was stolen). But I loved the way it drove, I loved the jauntiness and the quirkiness-- I loved actually feeling the road under me-- none of this silent, gliding, Bose-surround-sound, watch Finding Nemo while you go to the store cushiness for me. Give me a vehicle in which I can haul 2 bales of hay (yesterday, in fact) and in which a broken windshield is a status symbol.

I bought my jeep after a rather rough breakup with a gorgeous '98 Nissan Altima, my first purchased car. That is a long, painful story which I may just tell you someday... But "NSB" was sent to me from heaven on a day I decided I would never drive the car I actually wanted. But there she was, with the right price tag and the right circumstance, and she was MINE. There were still a few weeks of topless weather left that first Indian Summer, and she was broken in quickly, with the newly burned "Squaw Peak Jeep Mix" playing loudly under the full moon. She got her name from a favorite Shawn Colvin tune, one night when I found myself on "the hill above the lake." She has travelled the back roads of my canyon hundreds of times. She has been a landmark for passing friends who always knew if I was at work and they should drop in. She has watched countless shooting stars on top of the Alpine Loop. She took me and Kiste to Yellowstone for a much-needed mental healing late last summer, then to St. George for an unforgettable drive through Zion. She has been tough and strong and brave. I mourn her loss. I may never see blue like that again.

Self Portrait of my Ear with Double Rainbow on I-15 This is why I love driving a jeep. Look at what is between me and the world... Nothing.