Our daughter brought dinner and wine, a plant for her mother, and of course our grandchildren, 11 and 8. The kids, with help from their father, had given their mother a lovely flower arrangement. The five of us ate, drank, talked, and played games.
But in all this festivity, one more mother was. Rather, celebrated not for her motherhood but for herself. Lacey, a thirty-pound English Springer spaniel mix, came to us about five years ago from the Columbia County Humane Society. She had already been a mother at least once, maybe twice, by the time we met her—but that was all behind her. She came to us as a spayed four-year-old. She was a bit shy but soon meshed into our household routine. She loved to go on walks, to play and frolic in our backyard, and especially to sit in our front bay window and yap annoyingly at anyone or anything in the street outside.
Lacey trotted into the vacancy left by our previous dog—a superannuated Siberian husky. She was a welcome change of pace. We discovered that Lacey did not have two brain cells to rub together. She could play all day chasing stray light reflections around the living room. When she saw a dog in front of the house, she ran for the back door so she could bark at it in the backyard. But her lack of intellect was overbalanced by her sweetness. He was doughty, all male, and became her loyal foster brother.
Our neighbors have a gorgeous male Siberian named Bruce. When Bruce is in his backyard, and especially when he deigns to come to the fence, he is a rock star. Both Midnight and Lacey unleash an orgy of barking, running, jumping, and hysteria.
Bruce then pees on the fence and strolls away. When Mister Cool makes his appearance, Midnight erupts in a cacophony of barks.
