Where did the last eleven years go? November 26, 2002 mom was here, and then she wasn't. January 10, 2003 would have been Myrna's 79th birthday. I was determined that 1/10/03 would be a happy day, a do something good day. Lose a life, save a life. So Jerry and I visited four shelters on January 10th. Turned out it was Pilot who was waiting for us eleven years ago. The work of grief, finding a new way to love, began with Pi:
http://spiritualityhealth.com/articles/use-rituals-ease-anguish-loss

Less than a year old but rarin' to go, I brought Pi to my Topanga jogging trail. Not long after a rock that had been there all the years I had jogged by, that never caught my eye, jumped out at me. Pilot - in rock form. Same color? Same size? Yep. As I was seeing that sameness, revelation #2 came: this would be Pilot's place when it was ashes to ashes time. A puppy with a plan for the years beyond her last years. Death had fresh prints on me. 

What better place for the offspring of succulents I've planted, so busy multiplying there's no more room in the yard. This is the second home for some, 10+ years old and so happy their new growth continues like crazy. I dug out spots for seven sprouts and placed each inside chicken wire to guard against thirsty critters. They circle Pilot's rock, the perfect next place for my traveling gypsy aloes. With Bo and Misty ashes sprinkled between. 

Aloes, ashes and a rock for resting on to take in the view of the valley below. The San Fernando Valley; Pilot was always a valley girl, Misty spent her whole life there, and Bo moved from Topanga to the house on Alhama. Over half of my California years have been in Woodland Hills. I'm a valley girl too; feet on the ground, eye to the sky. 
​Pilot's rock, peace out.

Oh, what a difference a day makes. One day it's iron bars and cement floors, then it's palm trees and a pool or Malibu sand. Being so terrified that poking a head out of a shelter cubby is all that courage can muster and just days later, romping with dogs of the rich & famous. 

George is another example of the random nature of rescue. No way to tell which pup will make it out, much less what kind of fate awaits outside shelter walls. The on going story of George is what gives hope to all who care deeply about saving dogs. He was a shrinking violet who caught the eye of a rescuer who came back to sit in his kennel, then coaxed him to crawl out and look at her video camera. He wanted so badly to trust but was far too shy for any but a rescuer to consider taking home. Meaning, he didn't stand a chance. 

Chela's patiently waiting to video was the beginning of timid George's chance to bloom, to be with a foster who's sharing the good life with a fella seized from a hoarding/cruelty investigation. Nothing close to a deck with an ocean view, Stella & Chewy treats and plush doggie beds for resting after endless beach runs. From shaking shelter un-adoptable to beach photo shoot star - different universes. Heartfelt thanks to Paula who brings pups of all ages out of their cages at Los Angeles' West Valley shelter and cajoles cooped up shelter dogs ready to romp into posing for pix that can open cage doors for good (www.pawlapetphotography.com). The photos you see here are a small sample of gorgeous sunset shots that will help Angelica and Tails of the City find George the right home. Beach boy George is a living fairytale.