A hush fell over the house today. I found myself alone with the pugs and my work. It was a day of rest and recovery in many ways even though I spent the afternoon transcribing tapes of notes for an article I’m writing for Vermont Property Owners Report and conducting phone interview. I also managed to correct some students’ papers for a workshop next week, but overall the house was quiet; the tapping of my computer keys punctuated by the steady snores of the pugs. We even managed to work in a nap – Alfie’s furry fawn body tucked in the curve of my legs, Waffles teeny black form perched on my hip. I smile at this. It is Waffles’ signature stance. She is the first pug I have owned that I did not get as a puppy and thus, she brings to my life fully formed habits. Yet, because I was there since her birth, visiting her breeder Joan’s house so often, I am familiar with so many of them. She has slept on my hip since birth – every time I visited her house and climbed up on Joan’s bed to play with her. Waffles, her mother Releve and grandmother TarBaby held court on Joan’s bed – three black diva’s reigning over their kingdom. Now, Alfie and Waffles stand guard like two sentinels on my bed, watching over me as I sleep.
It is not a day of big moments, but little ones. We snacked on a bagel and cream cheese, the pugs licking the remnants off my fingers. I watched from the back door as they silently wandered the back yard. I played with my graphite and watercolor pencils sketching a drawing of my niece who had donned a Dr. Seuss wig the night before It is not the type of day of which epic stories are told, but it was the type of day from which a life is made – a small, but precious bead on a chain of memories.