Puppy Love

As Thanksgiving approaches and I'm driving Homaha with my grandparents (halleluuuuuuujah), I look at the little nugget of a pup that's sitting next to me in the back seat of the car, and I realize how grateful I am for her. When I think back on how she became my baby, I can't believe I've had the privilege of being her mom for nine years and a day.

I might sound like a crazy person for talking about Emma like this, but from the beginning she has been my dog, and mine alone. When she was a puppy, she looked like a little teddy bear. Incapable of putting her down, I would constantly carry her around like a baby and pet her tummy. Accustomed to being on her back all the time, when she got older she continued to lay on her back and "swim," waiting for people to scratch her stomach like I did when she was little. My brothers think it's stupid that she still does it as an adult, but I just smile, because it will always remind me of her baby days.

She's the one who barks when people yell my name, protects me from the vacuum cleaner that's obviously alive and out to get me, and cuddles with me on cold Nebraska nights. It's amusing to watch her herd my toddler cousins when her instincts kick in, and I love that every time I bathe her she scampers around the house afterwards like she's a puppy again.

She's quirky, but that's probably what makes us perfect for each other.

I am thankful for so many things, but today I remember to be thankful for the dog that's always been there for me. Now that she's getting older, I realize I may only have a few more years with her, and that scares me. This realization makes me even more thankful for the time I've had with her, and motivates me to never take her for granted.

Emma has taught me responsibility, has protected me, and has always been there when I needed a friend. She's the best first dog I could ever have, and I'll always love her.

Recharging the Batteries

Despite the fact that I still have four whole days left of school before Thanksgiving break, one single lit paper is the only thing that separates me from home in my mind. I can't wait.

I can't wait to drive into Omaha (probably met by dreary weather), pull into my driveway, run into my house and collapse on the couch, and revel in the complete happiness of being HOME. Not Tulsa-home, not back-in-my-dorm-room-home, but Homaha. Awful and miserable in winter, yes, but home to some of the most beautiful people in my life.

I can't wait to sit at the fireplace, eat home-cooked meals, and watch random episodes of Masterpiece Theatre with my mom. I can't wait to be terrorized by my brothers and run screaming through the house as they chase me for one reason or another (no, the dynamic hasn't changed since we were little). 

I can't wait to be in the arms of my best, sweetest, funniest friends. I'm ready for dancing and catching up and giggling in basements. I'm ready to not worry about classes or meetings or papers or grades. 

Sometimes you need a break from something to fully appreciate that you have it. I love this beautiful little place where I attend school, but I'm in dire need of a break. Going home will be the perfect way to recuperate before the last three weeks of the semester, and what makes me happy is the knowledge that when I return, despite a wonderful time at home, I'll be so thankful to be back.