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goldie

— Essentials —

Francois-Xavier’s and Claude Lalanne’s Sheep Chairs
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Last week’s blog about the “invisible man” sitting in the Spanish chair in my living room got me thinking about “my thing” for chairs. Whether they’re French, Spanish, Bauhaus or the chairs Mary Steenburgen hung on the wall in the 1979 film, Goin’ South with Jack Nicholson, I love chairs. Every few years I fall in love with a different style, but the chairs I really want don’t look anything like chairs.

They look like sheep.

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— Life —

Remember The First Wives Club with Diane Keaton, Goldie Hawn and Bette Midler about three divorcees who seek revenge on husbands who’ve left them for younger women? While the film was hysterical, for sure, women of a certain age loved it because the story offered more than a grain of truth. I have another cautionary tale, “The Second Wives Club,” (not the TV show that featured younger women), but a Shakespearean horror story few people are willing to talk about except for me and my friend.

Let’s call her Saint Cecilia.

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— Relationships —

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This was my little man, Sam. If you look closely, you can see fur peeking out from between his toes, a sure sign he was a house puppy, which was fine with me. Being an indoor dog made it easier for me to give him hugs, rub his soft silky ears and tell him how much he was loved and adored.

Sam captured our hearts the second we saw him. James said Sam was the only dog he knew who’d read and memorized the “Puppy Handbook.”

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— Relationships —

Sam at the vet the week before he died. Doesn't he have a beautiful face? When people would ask me what kind of dog he was I would say, 'He's part Beagle and part Walt Disney.' He looked like he could have been in 'Lady and the Tramp.'
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This week I had to put my precious Sam to sleep. It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. Like me and Molly, Sam survived abuse and unspeakable heartbreak. Each of us were lost until James found us, and together, we became a family.

Sam was with me through breast cancer; losing James; Goldie’s stroke; mother’s death and Molly’s death last month.

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— Relationships —

Me and Molly a month ago.
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This evening, Molly went to live with God. Before the vet administered the final medication, I laid on the floor and cradled her and told her how much I loved her; how blessed I was to have her in my life and that she was a lucky girl… She was going to live with God… and Goldie and James. I tried to keep my voice light and positive.

I didn’t want to scare or alarm her, but when I said “James,” her head whipped around, and she looked me in the eyes and held my gaze. I know she understood. It took my breath away.

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— Relationships —

Photo by Brenda Coffee
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New Year’s Eve, Goldie, my best girlfriend in the world, died. I’m still broken-hearted. Goldie was a great dog! Smart, funny, loving. For months, I’d been preparing myself for that moment. Her back legs were weak and wobbly. She was nearly deaf and had dementia—yes, dogs get dementia—but in her final hour, she somehow found the will to summon her zest for life.

I PULLED OVER, ROLLED DOWN THE WINDOW AND SAT THERE, LETTING HER TAKE IT IN, ONE LAST TIME. AS I WATCHED HER, I PUT ON THE BRIGHT RED LIPSTICK I’D HURRIEDLY PUT IN MY PURSE.

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