Today's Joy: Freedom & A Sunday Morning Trail Ride.
It was so lovely this morning, Reader, to forego all the fancy show trappings of the last few days and just get the horses out for some fun at the forest preserve. It was warm (high 80's) and beautiful at the Cook County-Potawatomi Woods Forest Preserve in Barrington, IL. We were quite the entourage with 5 carts & buggies and 4 people on horseback.

As it was Memorial Day weekend, I couldn't help thinking, as we laughed and rolled over hill and dale and through the backwoods, how blessed we are as Americans. The sacrifices of innumerable men and women throughout our country's history have made it possible for us to spend this carefree morning in the country, not worrying about our personal safety, or a corrupt government, or religious persecution, or if we'll have enough to eat tonight.

It's so important to remember how we got here. And equally important to recognize the people who give up so much so that we can continue to live this amazing life. I pray that God brings hope, joy and peace to those who are called to serve and to their families. They are doing sacred work.

Here, for your enjoyment, Reader, are a few shots of our wonderful day on the trail. More trail ride highlights are available here. I can't think of a better way to honor and celebrate the sacrifices of our forefathers & mothers and of our dedicated military than to get out and really live! What are you going to do today in celebration of all you're blessed with?


Little Man, Cousin & the Divine Ms. "M" on the trail.


Julie & Breezy, Serious Trail Riders.

Follow the leader.

Stay to the right!

Grace & Norma come up over the hill.

Uncle & Ginger coming up the hill.

Little Man hitches a ride with Aunt.

Waiting for stragglers.

Ginger meets the water obstacle.

One look and she's an old pro.

Elated smile or terrified? You decide.

Taking a break in the shade.

Cathy & Harry traverse the water.

Charge taking the plunge.

Just chillin'.

Uncle, Driving Portrait.

On Good Dogs

Yesterday I said goodbye to the best dog I've ever had.

For 13 years, Maia (MY-UH), my cocker spaniel, has been my constant companion and the dearest, funniest four-legged friend a girl could ask for.

From that October day in 1996 when she came into this world, until the moment yesterday evening when I felt her last heartbeat, she made my life full and rich and colorful in a way that I will never forget. So today, I want to thank God for all the good dogs in our lives. How blessed are we, their humble human companions!

I can't recall a single event since I was 20 that Maia wasn't part of. In 2000, she moved with me from the Chicago suburbs to college in western Maine. Five years later, we moved back to Chicago, then again this spring to our new home north of Dallas, TX. Each time, she has taken life in stride--stopping just long enough to make sure I packed her toys. Maia was along for most of the cross-country road trips I've taken. She also attended many of my college classes as well as graduation.

Maia's life has been full and amazing by any dog's (and most people's) standards. The first time she swam in the ocean was at Rhode Island's Beaver Tail State Park. She watched the tide come in dubiously before chasing the waves in and out, growling. She hiked part of the Appalachian Trail with me and paddled around clear rivers and spring-fed lakes in Maine. She went kayaking, island-hopping and motor-boating in her special doggie life vest.
Some of Maia's adventures were nefarious. She discovered how slippery a slanted roof can be after falling from a third-floor fire escape at an apartment building I once lived in (her only injury: a scraped chin). Maia secretly learned to drink beer at the raucous college parties my rugby-playing neighbors threw on Thursday nights. Fortunately, after the guys snuck her a few mouthfuls, the bubbles made her sneeze. But she developed a taste for PBR that lasted the rest of her life. Maia even attended whole semesters of classes at the request of my professors. They never seemed to mind when she interrupted class discussions by rolling around on the floor and snorting.

Everywhere we went, Maia knew how to get something yummy. When we lived in Maine, she knew every place downtown she was likely to get a dog biscuit. We would run errands on foot so she could saunter into the post office, pharmacy and the bank to troll for treats. For $1.25, Gifford's Ice Cream stand offered her favorite Dog Bone Sundae: a scoop of vanilla with a dog biscuit on top. A dog's life didn't get much better than that!

There wasn't a broken heart Maia couldn't mend or a tough day she couldn't make all right with a few sloppy licks. Of course, there were trade-offs. I had to be okay with gargantuan snoring and sleeping with a squeaky shoe every night. I had to be vigilant when we went to the river or lake, lest she irritate hapless bathers up and down the beach by rolling on their clean towels and poking through their unguarded picnic baskets. Above all, I better lock up the cat's litter box before leaving the house. Otherwise, I was guaranteed to come home and find Maia had removed some of its contents and placed them on the entryway floor. (Her way of telling me she thought I was shitty for going to school, work or wherever that day instead of staying home with her.)

Too cute for her own good, Maia's photogenic poise was irresistible. From the time I began taking pictures, she was my favorite subject. I was her own personal paparazzi and press secretary and she indulged me, if somewhat condescendingly.

There are zillions of other stories and moments I could share about her. She was my dog-child, my person-with-fur, my favorite thing ever. She touched every part of my life and taught me to be a kinder, gentler person.

Like all good dogs everywhere, she was sent to me--not so much because she needed taking care of, but because I did. God Bless her.