Blossum Makes Me Move My Ass
Blossum and I trudged into the house after today’s excursion. This morning, when she nagged (read: “barked”) at me in that huffy “we gotta get outta this place” way of hers, the Jackson School running track and field became our destination. Though the school is closed (what isn’t?), there are acres upon grassy acres of accessible wide open space where we frolic and get shamelessly jiggy; me dancing wildly to music from my favorite decade, the 60’s, and Blossie careening around, long velvety ears flapping wildly behind her. If I stayed in total lockdown during this quarantine, I’m convinced I’d be a zaftig wack-job in no time, binge-watching Netflix and eating Double Stuf Oreos. Bottom line: Blossum makes me move my ass.
Watching Blossie leap and slosh around in the field, her big, beautiful white paws and freckled tummy getting splattered with mud and who-knows-what, I reflect on how much different life would be without Blossum. The exuberance and joie de vivre in her every movement provide a rich technicolor spectrum into what could be a very muted time. The contorted, wind-stretched smile on her face as she races around the field, tripping on her huge pendulous ears, speaks volumes. No one within yards of her can keep a straight face. You just can’t.
When two powerful German Shorthaired Pointers come bounding over to sniff and play, Blossie’s off, happily barking like a hound on a fox hunt, daring them to “chase me,” and galloping just ahead of them. Really. She gallops. You can actually hear her galumph and feel reverberations on the ground. I’ve tried to catch her running on camera but she’s too fast. A woman stops me, mask on, “I had no idea Basset Hounds could run like that.” To see the stride of her little legs as she takes off like a flash of lightning reminds me of Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom, when the lion goes after the wildebeest. Though the school is closed, Blossum is having herself a one-dog track meet.
My laughter quotient has expanded exponentially, courtesy of my very own stand-up, short-legged comedian: “I’m a big dog with little legs!”. When Blossie pretends not to hear my voice in favor of snagging a scrumptious morsel of cat poop that’s calling her name, I giggle at her “personness” as she dashes just ahead of my reach, “I gotta get it, I gotta get it,” and glances back at me to gauge just how long she has to claim her “treat” before I get there and scoop it out of her mouth…..”Ewww….yucky dog.” Yes, I do that. “Ewww…yucky Mommy.”
Laughter is a gift that Blossum brings by her mere presence. But there’s a serious, much more profound element she brings to me. I’ve bantered the word love around all my life, and I’ve even felt it from time to time. But I’ve never experienced such unconditional love for or from any living thing. Blossie has my heart. It’s huge for me. Just now as I write, she senses her cue and slowly toddles over to my desk (“you rang?”) She leans on my leg and gazes up at me with her loving brown eyes, raising her left paw in supplication as I stroke the thick fur on her chest. Her confident energy conveys an undeniable calm and reassurance, “Hey, I’m here for you Mommy. We got this.” I silently thank the gods…..“Namaste, my teacher."
