'I live at the top of the block
No more trouble and fuss
Need a change, a positive change
Look, it's me writing on the wall'.
Soul To Soul: Back to Life
'It's dark. I'm awake. It's 4am, though I don't know it yet! My husband is not beside me. He returns to tell me that we have a new life.
It's early September and I've just returned from Scotland a few hours ago, after a busy week catching up with family and friends.
Flying back aren't we always suspended between two very different lives: one calm and contemplative and another proactive and productive?
Two very different selves. For me the contrast could not be more stark and the transition, therefore not always easy to make. My holiday days consisting of relaxed pyjama -mornings drinking coffee followed by tea-dressed afternoons drinking (you guessed!) more coffee. Contrast my normal frantic days of work and lots of dog-walking.
However when the wheels of the plane hit the ground at Napoli, I'm ready. With summer sun setting on my final week of freedom, I'm hitting the ground running. I'm well and truly back. Back to life, back to reality.
Back to my living-room. Our beautiful dog is now a mother. Her first-born lies beside her. Tiny, tiny; the size of a guinea pig. Molto carino- as Italians would say. He is perfect. In the absence of a birthing-pool, is forced to improvise with an Ikea setee and settles in for the long haul. The final puppy breathes new life at 11am.
Furry fantasy or canine calamity? For certain, a reality for which I must take full responsibility. Little John, Loxley, Maltilda, Maid Marion, Will Scarlet, Eleanora & Tuck. The products of my delayed sterilisation of Deborah. Consequences of my irresponsibilty? Blessings to seven good people? The pressing need to find good homes for every one weighs heavily on my shoulders. Only God can help me now!
'Back to life, back to the present time
Back from a fantasy, yes
Tell me now take the initiative
I'll leave in your hands, until you are ready'
Soul To Soul: Back to Life
This blessed rest had been heaven-sent. When puppy-pestilence - in the form of gastro-enteritis- had descended on our perfect mini dogs, our lives had equally quickly descended into Hell. Lives on hold we battled to save our furry family. By day we shovelled shit, mopped blood, administered antibiotics and drive around looking for fresh cardboard for the puppy pen. By night exhausted and often tearful, I simply prayed. Though I must confess my faith was sorely tested when two puppies died- including 'Little John', the only one that looked like Johnny, dad.
Help was finally sent in the form of Angela, an animalista. Angela regularly called us on Thursdays to inform us that she'd found another loving home. She gave us the arrival time of the animal collection van. It was all so easy. Tidings of comfort and joy indeed!
Passing over the Dochart bridge into Killin that January night, everything seemed eerily calm. Over the noise of the running water I thought I heard a voice whispering: 'We're still here.We know you've been troubled but rest now. Life is as it should be. Whilst little merry men are happily playing, gentlemen must take their rest'.
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