Prissy

Through the years I’ve often thought of getting a dog. At first I put it off because of my work schedule; then I put it off because of my frequent travel plans. It wouldn’t be fair to leave a dog for long periods of time. 

In 2010, I decided the time had come for a dog.

I poured over shelter web sites from Santa Barbara to Bakersfield. I had specific requirements. I have allergies so I need a non-shedding dog. I don’t want a puppy, I haven’t the patience or energy to train a pup. I live in a small house so no large dog. None of the shelters had a dog to match my wants. Where could I find my ideal? I lamented. A friend suggested trying Craig’s List. I had never thought of that.
That very day I went on line to Craig’s List and there she was. A 5-6 year old mini poodle, spayed, all shots up to date, fully trained and lovable. Her former owner could no longer care for her because of ill health. The foster mother brought her to my house the next day. Prissy climbed onto my lap and ran her tongue across my mouth. She knew she had found her forever home.

Remembering D-Day: June 6,1944

In April 2001, during a trip to France, Henry and I took a tour of Normandy and paused in emotional awe as we gazed upon the endless grave markers from the D-Day invasion. We stood on the precipice and watched the churning waters of the English Chanel below us. 

The rough sea looked like the interior of an agitating washing machine. We wondered how anyone survived the invasion. The remnants of German bunkers dotted the hillsides, and we explored and reminisced and prayed.

The rainy, windy weather finally drove us to seek shelter in the visitor center. A pleasant young man sat at his desk and welcomed us to rest. Henry told him the story of his B17 buddies who died during a raid over Europe and the young soldier asked “What were their names?”

Henry told him the pilot, Herman’s name, and the young man turned to his computer. After a few clicks, he said “They were shot down on March 25, 1945 and are buried in Belgium. I can give you the name of the cemetery and the location of the graves.”

Henry didn’t answer.

“We can go there to visit their graves if you want.” I said, and when I looked at him, silent tears streamed down his cheeks.

            “No,” he said, “I’d rather remember them alive.”