Healthy children.

Healthy, happy children.

The means to care for an ailing dog.

A job. With benefits. Interesting work.

A computer.

A wam cat next to me, hunkering close and losing his shit (like the rest of the pack) because their canine leader is hospitalized.

New underwear!

A sport I love. An obsession (weight lifting) that’s actually healthy.

Swimming. At all. Regardless of speed.

Perspective. Hard earned.

A stolen 3 day weekend on the beach.

Love. Deeper now than I ever thought it could be when I met him 17 years and 1 day ago.

Steak. Nom, nom.

She doesn’t like dog food.

Even if what’s in the can is exactly the same as what’s in the dog food can, she prefers the shorter, wider cans of cat food. And their contents.

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Look at the smile on that face. Hell, he’s got a cat right next to him and he’s still smiling. I’ve never seen a happier cancer-laden, arthritic 13 1/2 year old dog. Have you?

I think I told you (both of you?) my goodest good boy has cancer. But to verify, I’d have to go back to a part of the blog I’m none too anxious to revisit.

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This.

This is what remorse looks like on a remaindered, ridiculous second-hand designer dog’s face after she’s destroyed her person’s last pair of JCrew wedge flip flops, just in time for summer.

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Earlier today I tweeted “I sit on the floor, sorting months of mail. File, recycle, shred. The cat and dog have their morning brawl atop the neat stacks. Thanks guys.”

It’s quite the spring break I’m having here. I’ve now made two runs to the dump (details to follow in a guest blog post soon – believe me, I’ll be linking to it since it’s the only writing of any sort I’ve done in at least a month). The utensil drawer is sparkling clean. I can see the floor in my closet.

Short on fun. Long on productivity. I think the animals are encouraging me to abandon the house and go soak up the sun while it’s shining.

But first I’ve got to get to the bottom of a drawer or two…

He smiled broadly as I led him into our driveway, up the brick steps, inside the gate.

Ten minutes earlier, the phone rang. I quelled my panic from the early morning call, seeing our neighbor’s number on the caller ID.

“Patty I am sorry to call so early but Henry is in our back yard.” I scrambled to get dressed, telling my husband to get up to help in case the ‘doodle made a break for it too. I had let the dogs out shortly before, knowing Henry would bark at the back door when he wanted to come back in.

I still don’t know how he got out. Every night when I pull in our driveway, I reflexively check the gates to make sure they are closed. Did I miss something? Did the wind blow open a gate? Did my dog grow thumbs overnight?

As I put on my shoes, I saw Henry wagging his tail while my husband talked to the neighbors. Staples are holding the incision on his shaved belly closed (yes, it’s cancer), and his ear is still taped on top of his skull as it heals. He saw me and started slowly walking towards me, tail wagging, grinning widely.

I swear, that dog laughed as he slowly made his way back into the house.

Finally. I started this blog in 2008. Finally.

And finally, 2008 is drawing to a close. Finally.

I’ve had so much fun.  So many of you have made me laugh (and occasionally tear up) over these past several months as I’ve read your blogs and as you’ve commented here. I’ve been so honored every time a reader comes back, so happy when anyone leaves a comment. Although I don’t blog every day (and there are times when I go weeks without so much as posting a picture), I’ve got this blog under my skin… if only, for no other reason, the freedom to use whatever words I damn well please without anyone having a hissy fit.

More 2008 in rewingdangdoo after the jump

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Nothin’, that is, other than these ridiculously adorable pictures of Talullah and Oscar, hanging out on my son’s bed when they thought no one was around to catch them in the act.

And no, I’m not at all above asking Talullah if she’s a bad, bad girl to get her to tilt her head like so.

Remember last summer when we thought spending a few weeks at the beach seemed perfectly reasonable? I do. Vaguely.

Taking hundreds of pictures during our Vineyard trip last August was a clutch move. Sure, the memories will sustain us for a while. More importantly, my laptop is throwing off a lot of heat as I fix the tilted horizons and try to eliminate zombie dog eyes… and I’m sure running a computer is far cheaper than turning the heat up above 58 degrees.

Viewing the world from the late November market’s underbelly, hitting the road for two weeks seems a little extravagant. But I wouldn’t want the money back. Blowing it on an overland parking permit, Back Door Donuts, Sharkey’s margaritas and fishing poles (the ones a certain dog who shall remain nameless ate somewhere between Providence and New London) sure was fun. Pull up a chair and warm your hands by the CPU with me as I stroll down memory lane.

I’m still enamored of the clams in the bucket. If I took one picture of these, I took 4 dozen. Greedy greedy greedy.

The Edgartown Lighthouse is beautiful inside and out. And, yeah, I remember those flip flops. I think Talullah ate them some time in early September.

More extravagant memories after the jump.

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I am greatly outnumbered in my family. Boy husband. Boy dogs. Boy children. Boy cat.

I tried overcompensating at first by getting a girl cat. And that look on her face may tell you right away, she’s not that into girl stuff. I’m not either. We get along great.

She’s a little feral. For the first year she lived with us, the only real cuddling we did was when she would jump on my back while I did yoga.

Actually, that’s the only real cuddling we’ve ever done.

When we brought this ridiculously adorable mess of a girl dog into our family last year, it’s possible I went overboard with the idea of having a fluffy little princess. I’m not sure why; girl stuff has never been my thing.

While shopping for dementor masks and ninja knives and other boy-like Halloween trappings last year, I may have picked up a purple tutu for her. What dog doesn’t want to dress up like a ballerina? Come on. You know they all do. It’s a great idea. Everybody thinks so.

Except, possibly, for Talullah.