Love over logistics
My friend J. fell hard for a silver-haired beauty. She lived a few blocks away, and soon they were dropping in on each other. They never needed plans in advance.
Spontaneity suited them. But after a year of daily physical proximity, she packed up and moved back to Montana, where she’d lived all her life.
I told him not to worry. Twelve hours in the car is nothing compared to having a warm body to hold in the dead of winter.
Put love over logistics, I told him. And you both can get what you need.
Of course, that’s not entirely true. But thanks to Covid, we know that intimacy can transcend distance.
If both people really do care.
My dog Ruby died recently, and my heart is aching. Having lost my adventure pal, alter ego and confidant, I’m looking, again, for love.
Colorado (where I live) is lousy with breeders of Labrador retrievers, so naturally I began my puppy search close to home. I bumbled around looking for a match, but frustration set in. The heads were too boxy. The legs too short. Some pups were born too early. Others already were taken.
So, I widened my geographic search. I stuck to my standards and continued to swipe left. Until I found what I was looking for. Two possible options for the big love I seek. A chocolate future litter in Virginia, from Ruby’s blood line. And a polar white one in Arizona, to help me forget what I lost. I put down two deposits to hedge my bet.
As I wait for the dams to conceive, I find myself again looking for a Pal of the human kind. As I try to let go of Ruby, I admire those mother dogs. After giving their all, they send their little loved one off with strangers, never to be seen again. After a brief period of mourning, they wag their tails and roll in the grass. They happily catch a frisbee. Or fetch a bloody duck. A heat cycle or two later, they might be coerced do it all again.
As for me? It’s time to be patient now, and to heal. I pat other people’s dogs. I spend time with friends.
I wait for the right pup—maybe even the right Pal—to come along.
