At Home in the Bluegrass: November 2012

Marc took Will to school this morning because I had an 8 am closing and MR (Will's new school chauffeur) is off at the Domain for Happening. It always throws off the day a bit when Marc hangs out during our morning school prep routine because he asks so many questions like "Are you going to make Will's lunch?" Yes. "Are you sure you have time for a run?" Yep. "Don't you have a closing at 8?" Yes, don't worry I have plenty of time. And the worst question, "what's on your schedule, today?" That question always makes me nervous because I have this feeling that Marc thinks I could use my time more wisely. Well, I have a closing at 8, and need to turn in my paperwork at the office, and I have to meet TJ at the house on Waco at 2 and pick up a key to a house, I have to work on my mailing list and maybe write a blog post. And, check out my latest obsession Atlantic-Pacific. I love this blog and I want to be friends with Blair
Eadie so that I can borrow some of her clothes. I'd let her borrow mine, too, if she wanted.

So, I actually stopped my recounting of my schedule at "work on my mailing list" and before I got to "write a blog post." Blogging falls into the perhaps-you-could-use-your-time-more-wisely category.

Turns out, he only asked what I was doing because he was meeting some friends for lunch and wanted to know if I'd like to go too. Fortunately, I do have time but only because I use it so wisely.

Anyway, happy Friday! And, if you have time check out Atlantic-Pacific.

P.S. If anyone wants to buy me this cute Madewell sweater, go right ahead.

It’s hard to imagine that this year’s Blessing of the Animals could exceed the chaos of last year’s event, but it did. I could tell as we approached the courthouse steps lined with the choir and banners of our church and my dogs were barking furiously that we were off to a very bad start. Will accompanied me this year. He didn’t really want to go but his presence involves another story regarding teenage boy chaos and let’s just say that he could have gone with me or gone with his dad to visit his grandmother at the nursing home. On this day, he chose me.

To start with Will had one dog, I had the other. He initially wanted the beast we refer to as the good dog (Howie). I reminded Will that in public, there is very little difference between our good and our bad dog and that Cleo (bad dog) could have been the better choice. He took Howie anyway and naturally Cleo pooped on the sidewalk along Upper Street. I was prepared with a bag and so I had my dog and bag of poop and Will had his dog and no poop as we made our way from the church parking lot to the service being held at the old Courthouse and Farmer's Market. Maybe Will did make the better choice although I suspect regardless of whose poop it was, Will would have left it for me to pick up.

There was a tremendous amount of pulling on leashes and a horrendous amount of barking as we proceeded downtown. Heads turned as we arrived just in time for the beginning of the blessing. Our presence was acknowledged by all – by some with smiles, by some with frowns, with much barking from their four-legged counterparts and with tears from a small baby. Truly, my dogs even made small children cry. I had a flash of being the parent with a child throwing a tantrum in the grocery store check-out line. I could feel myself as an object of scorn, pity, and comic relief. And, I am certain there were those people who viewed me with thankfulness, realizing how grateful they were that their own dogs were so much better behaved. I like to think my dogs' behavior can't be helped and their Jack Russell terrierosterone gets the better of them but there were other Jack Russells there minding their manners. Better owners, perhaps…

In another flash, this time of self-pity, I was sorry I had come, I was sorry I hadn’t brought our cat instead who surely needs a blessing as much as our dogs do. And, I was envious of people with dogs that can be taken out in public. Thanks to this darn Blessing I was coveting my neighbor's dog! But, I picked Howie up during the St. Francis prayer and he stopped barking and gave a little Amen at the end. He tried to sing along with the choristers and Cleo settled down a bit to only barking once every 7 seconds or so. As the prayers ended and the individual pet blessings began, Cleo and Howie had their special blessing from our Deacon, Paula. The Holy Water didn’t sizzle when it touched them which I took as a positive sign. It was a little easier to remember why we had come. For a few moments, at least.

Chaos resumed post-blessing. While I was talking to Father Brent, Howie christened his leg and shoe with a sprinkle of his own. On the list of embarrassing things that can happen, having your dog pee on your priest’s shoe gets a pretty high ranking. On the bright side, you can make a lot of good jokes about being baptized in the name of Dog and marking someone as his own forever. Because things weren't bad enough, Cleo, pulling on her leash, spilled coffee down my sweater. Will walked away like he didn't know us and pretended that he had a gently behaved Labrador retriever he'd left at home.

Last year on the Sunday after the Blessing, Rev. Carol gave a lovely sermon that drew inspiration from another parishioner's Labrador retriever mix that had laid his head on her foot after the blessing. I remember thinking , no offense to Carol, but preaching the Gospel of the Labrador Retriever is pretty easy: loving everyone, falling asleep in the midst of chaos, waiting patiently for your master to tell you what to do next.   I want someone to preach about the natural spirituality of Jack Russell Terriers.

I've mentioned this to several priests and so far, not a one has been up to the task. I've noticed though that they all seem to have a bit of a bias toward larger, mellower dogs.  So, perhaps it's up to me to preach the Gospel of Jack Russell which is about joy, exuberance and an over-abundance of blessing. Theirs is a world that is meant to be barked at, chased after and, if at all possible, captured and had all goodness shaken out of it.  Our earthly home is not all good as evidenced by the exceeding abundance of squirrels and chipmunks and Jack Russells call us to be ever faithful and persistent in battling the evil vermin that populates our backyards and sidewalks. Jack Russells are compact, faithful, persevering, confident, focused, bossy and bustling with energy. They are never, ever, easy-going or laid-back and they always have the energy and enthusiasm for whatever life demands.
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In real life, I am probably not a Jack Russell Terrier. The last time I took one of those "dog personality quizzes" it said if I was dog I'd be a Norwegian Elkhound.  But maybe because I'm not a Jack Russell myself, I can appreciate all they are that I am not and I could use a good dose of telling you what I really think in a loud, persistent bark. I often think that if Marc took the dog personality quiz (which he would never do because that would be a frivolous waste of time like reading blogs), he'd probably be a Jack Russell. I am thankful for the Jack Russells of the world.

And, I'm also thankful that you can't be excommunicated for the things your dogs do. But, next year, we're taking the cat.