The stories were all very sweet and uplifting, and they brought a smile to my face.
Which got me to thinking that it might be fun during this Holiday season, with Christmas so close, if some of the WomenRV members might like to post about the best gift that they have ever received.
Anyone?
In any case, this got me to thinking about the very best present I have ever received. I had to think quite a while - I mean, I have received some damn fine presents in my life, but it was difficult to think of a special gift that would qualify as Best Ever. I thought about this for several days.
When I finally remembered what it was, I was surprised that I had forgotten.
It all kind of started like this:
I have always loved Vermont. Although I have never been privileged to visit there in the winter time, I have visited this green mountain state more than once. But not for more years than I care to think about now.
Although it may be difficult to believe, my late mother in law was my best friend (sadly, my own mother did not live to know my children). We both liked the really important things in life (travel, kids and dogs) and at the drop of a hat we would load my babies and the dog into the car and just take off for parts unknown.
Leaving the husband behind. Hell, he didn't want to go anyway.
One year when the husband and I were living in Ohio, my mother-in-law flew out from California, she and I popped the babies (ages 18 months and two years) into their car seats and the dog (about 8 years old then) in the back of the old station wagon and took off for Vermont.
It was late fall (late September or early October, I kind of forget now that so much time has gone by) and the slow cruise east on the interstate through the exquisite and astonishing fall colors of upper Ohio, Pennsylvania and New York State was a revelation for this California girl.
Also, at that time, I still had my Heart Dog.
Those of you that have had a Heart Dog will know exactly what I mean by this statement. For those who have never been inexpressibly blessed with a Heart Dog. . . well. . . no amount of explanation can ever really get the idea across, but let me say this: if a person is really really lucky, they may be blessed with one Heart Dog in their entire life. There will be other good and excellent dogs, of course - but a true Heart Dog comes to a person just once.
There is only one bad thing about having a Heart Dog: and that is the fact that you can never realize that this dog is your One. . . until they have gone. And that, of course, leads to a lifetime of regret.
My Moochie, was a purebred, registered American Pit Bull Terrier. She was, and will always be, my Heart Dog.
Moochie
Yeah, yeah, I know, I know. I read the slanted and biased news stories just like everyone else. And if you believe all that you read about this breed, and related breeds. . . well, I'm really sorry about that - but that's your loss.
Think what you will - I have had this breed, and related breeds, for more than thirty years, so I do know them pretty well, I think. I know I am digressing - but let me just finish this part by saying that this dog likely saved my life (and if not my life, then definitely from very serious harm) one time when I was accosted by a local crazy on a deserted beach.
But that is a story for another time.
Anyway, here we were, my mother-in-law, kids and dog cruising along in my boat-size Ford Crown Victoria station wagon down the interstate, taking in the sights. Adults in the front seat happily chatting away, kids in the back seat mostly asleep, and Moochie in the cargo area behind the back seat where she had a nice bed made of a fluffy old orange comforter.
She was one happy dog.
Mother-in-law and I both thought that Pennsylvania and New York state fall colors were amazing: and then we crossed the state line into the state of mind that is Vermont. Let me assure you that no photo, or calender, or coffee-table book has ever come close to capturing the reality of Autumn in this place. It is a good thing that bright colors don't burn the eyes, because if they did we would have been struck blind.
We spent many days kind of just driving aimlessly around. Our idea of a good time was to be driving along on a road God-knows-where, see an interesting cross road and make a quick turn down that one just to see what might be back there. At that time (may still be this way, but I don't know) most of the back roads were well-maintained dirt roads.
We ended up in some interesting places - one turn off brought us to a farm yard in the middle of some red barns with little space to turn around - I was embarrassed when the farmer came out of his house (surprised, no doubt, to see a humengous station wagon idling by his back door) to ask why we were there. When I sheepishly said that I was lost, he just smiled and waved us on.
One evening after a day's driving it was dinnertime, we were hungry, so we stopped at a Chinese restaurant for dinner. Pulled into the parking lot, fed the dog, grabbed the kids and headed inside. My son was especially cranky that evening, although he was mostly a good traveler. Dinner was a bit slow in coming, and after a bit my son began to wail. I have never been fond of kids making a fuss in a restaurant (or much of anywhere else for that matter) so I picked him up out of the restaurant high chair and took him back out to my car, figuring he needed a change. Mother-in-law stayed behind with my daughter.
My regular changing station was to open the side-to-side wide back door of the station wagon (this was the big door that opened up the whole back end, where the cargo compartment and dog lived) and just do the "thing". Once this was accomplished, my son had calmed down, so I scooped him up and headed back into the restaurant.
It was pretty dark in the parking lot, not much lighting and quite cold by this time - and since this place was kind of in an industrial part of Montpelier I didn't want to linger outside. When I got back to the table the hot food was just arriving, and we dug in. Interestingly, my son never wanted baby food, even when he was small - so I just held him on my lap and shoveled the Chinese in.
We were probably in there for at least an hour and a half, and by the time we pushed back from the table we were all happy and full. When we got outside I was surprised to see that the parking lot was now mostly empty. And damn, but it was cold outside.
And then I saw it, and I could not believe my eyes: the rear door of the station wagon was still wide open to the cold night sky. In my upset and hurry to get back inside I had somehow inexplicably forgotten to slam it shut as I always had before. I still clearly remember the feeling of my heart falling out of my chest and hitting the dirt more than twenty-five years later: pure, total and complete despair. About a million thoughts whirled. Long trip. Unfamiliar city. Impossible search. Strange sights. Different smells. Dark night.
Gone dog.
Shaking all over, I began to run towards my car, sobbing.
And then the most totally unexpected and magical and wonderful and unbelievable miracle, and The. Best. Present. EVER:
My sweet dog was still there, curled up tightly, sleeping contentedly as she always had, there in the back, still nestled warmly in the ratty old orange comforter, with the big back door still wide open to the world.
With my son still clutched in my arms, I dropped right there to my knees in the middle of the parking lot to thank God for this wonderful gift.
Our trip continued for a week or so after that, and we had some nice adventures and saw some beautiful sights along the way.
But nothing even came close to the sure knowledge that I was gifted to continue to have my sweet old dog still by my side, for a few more too-short years.
Anne
