Imbolc and the 3/4 Moon
Tuesday gratefuls: Rigel.
Sparks of Joy and Awe: Rigel.

An angel has returned to her true home. Rigel died quietly and peacefully over night. She lay on the kitchen floor, in a usual sprawled position, beautiful since she got groomed last week. My best guess is that she had a stroke a week ago yesterday and began to lose functioning of her lungs as a result. But, I don’t know. She was never in distress, at least not visibly.
At 13 she long ago passed the age of expected death. And she lasted for me, past the hospitalization with endocarditis in 2021, a year and a half past that. I needed her after Kate’s death last April and she kept going, kept showing up at night to warm me with her long body.
She lasted until my 75th birthday, I think to the day. Yes, a sad memory for my future birthdays, but also a memory that will bring me joy. Rigel lived her own life. She lost her sister 6 years ago. Vega had a big personality and Rigel lived somewhat in her shadow, but after Vega died, the always there Rigel had a chance to blossom.

If you were here, and you were human or canine, she loved you. Without cost to you, without condition from her. I now believe we’ve had the whole Dogs are angels in disguise thing backwards. It’s angels who are Dogs in disguise. A loving and compassionate God could well have created the wolf knowing that fierce compassion would be needed later as humans and wolves evolved. In the frisson between humans and wolves God allowed angels to come into our earthly lives. And might I say, Hallelujah.
When we brought Rigel and Vega home from the breeder, Rigel got her head stuck in a gate. She wanted to go explore. A quality she had in abundance. I had to take the gate apart to get her head out. Those of you who know my manual skills know what that meant for me.
She continued escaping, taking with her Vega and sometimes a Whippet or two, until I found the downed tree limb. She used it to lever her 110 pound body up and out of our yard. She escaped so often that I strung 2,500 feet of electric fencing. She hit it once and stopped forever.

She had a strong prey drive. Kate told the story of her coming into our Andover kitchen, coughing a couple of times, and expelling the head of a rabbit so recently dead that its eyes were clear and moist. She and Vega together let their inner hound out often, catching and killing, chasing and barking.
Six years a Midwesterner and seven years a Mountain Dog, Rigel adapted well. She dug and dug and dug, in spite of the rocky soil. Rabbits live under our shed and our deck. Don’t know how many she got-a huntress does not reveal her secrets-but she kept at it until days before her death.

Rigel and Vega were Irish Wolfhound/Coyote Hound mixes. We went this route because we wanted a longer life span. So many of our Wolfhounds died at 6 or under. Most. Vega died of bloat, a sort of accidental death though she did have an amputation for osteosarcoma. She was 7. Rigel kept on and on, in spite of illnesses. Yet, she persisted.
Jon wrote, “A big loss for us all.” Yes. She loved each of us wholly. Thumping tail. Leaning in. Kisses. Lying in the bed. Gazing at us as we gazed at her. She is irreplaceable, like all our dogs. Like all our humans. All different. All special.

Celt. Sorsha. Scott. Morgana. Bucky. Iris. Tully. Tira. Emma. Bridget. Hilo. Kona. Gertie. Kepler. Tor. Orion. Vega. Rigel. 18 in all. One left. Only two of us who made the move to Colorado are still alive. And both males.
Saturday gratefuls: That Urbandale rocker. The new coffee table. The new lamp. Here at the Hermitage. Many items put in cabinets, fussing will be required. A plan slowly coming together. Feels wonderful. Rigel did not eat today. Her footpads. The two delivery guys from Modern Bungalow. “Do you have wildlife up here?” Looking at 4 Mule Deer in the front. Kids. Ruth’s first day back after the hospital. Snow coming down gently. Night fell.
Tired of feeling tired. I get only a few things done. Sit down. Nap. A few more. Not enough. I imagine it’s either the Erleada or the Erleada/Orgovyx combo. So hard to suss out though. Sarcopenia from not working out. Other meds. Getting good sleep so that’s not it.
Friday gratefuls: David Sanders. You’re the most articulate person I’ve ever met. Another person the night before, someone I admire: you’re the man I want to become. Geez. Yet. Nice, too. Therapy. Again. For me. For Ruth. Therapy Nation. Languishing. Mourning. Grieving. Bright Sun. Blue Sky. Black Mountain. Wireless mouse and keyboard. Wow.
Living. As far as I know, it beats dying.
Took her, Gabe, and Jon to Katsu Ramen. Was gonna be Domo, Ruth’s favorite, but it’s closed due to omicron. This was her 15th birthday meal. From last year. I took Gabe to his favorite, Benihana, last month. This little family. Sweet and, it seems, taking steps to heal from years of trauma physical and trauma emotional.
Some tears. Talking about Kate. About our life together, our love, our commitment to each other’s growth. Focusing on life after Kate. As David asked, “What does this 74 year old man have left to do with his life?” Exactly.
Saturday gratefuls: Award Winning Pet Grooming. Beautiful Rigel. Shaggy Sheep’s carnitas taco. South Park and the Continental Divide. Beautiful with Snow. McKesson Biologic. Erleada. Happy Camper. Cheeba Chews. Making dreams come. Driving on a Snow packed highway. Like old times. Park County. The Mountains. The Valleys. The blue, blue Sky. Warmer. Getting stuff done.
In a very real sense I don’t live in Colorado, I live in the Rocky Mountains. Colorado is the Denver Metro, the big ranches on the Eastern Plains, and the even bigger ranches in the Western part of the state. Here the dominant reality is Mountains. Streams. Valleys. Pines and Aspen. Mule Deer, Moose, Elk. Mountain Lions and Marmosets. Sudden changes in weather that can breathe bone chilling cold, bursts of vehicle covering Snow, hot and dry winds, and glorious clear blue Sky.



Friday gratefuls: Racism. Anti-Semitism. Sexism. Caste consciousness. Hate. Love. Justice. Resistance. Struggle. Le lucha. The long dureé. Vince. Snow. Ruth and her commitment to herself. Jon and his love for her. Betty Whiteout and Ctr Salt Delete, names for Minnesota Snowplows.
Started putting things in cabinets and drawers. Gonna have to get creative since I lost two drawers in the remodel. Going to the container store tomorrow. Pots, pans, dishes, bowls, cups, infrequently used items like soup tureen, large serving dishes, punch bowl, even appliances will have plenty of room. Towels and dishrags, too. Often used items like forks and spoons and steak knives, spatulas, tongs, wooden spoons, as well. But the not so often used things like thermometers, Kate’s extensive collection of single use kitchen devices, e.g. cherrypitter, pomegranate deseeder, not so much. I look forward to solving this problem. Seriously.
Got to take Rigel to Bailey today for Award Winning Pet Grooming. Gonna go first to 


Felt a sag in my excitement about the new kitchen as I start to reorganize it. Realized it was the midday blues. Gonna get back to exercising, starting today. Better energy when I work out. Was gonna go to On the Move Fitness, but wrote Deb a note and said, “I’ve got the Omicron jitters. Let’s schedule a zoom session.” Probably over cautious. But. I’m not now, nor have I been sick for the last two years. In less you count prostate cancer, of course.
Wednesday gratefuls: David Sanders. Rebecca. Claire. Bonnie. Elisa. Snow. Coming down hard. Shingles vaccination. Safeway pickup. Rigel’s meds. Kep’s good appetite. Kabbalah Experience. Their classes. The kitchen. Mostly remodeled. The Mountain roads in the Snow.
It also allows for the sort of love I have with Kep and Rigel, with my ancient brothers, with Jon, Ruth, and Gabe. The sort of love that CBE has shown to me.
Next up tomorrow: getting started on kitchen reorganization. I plan to savor the opportunity to organize plates and silverware, herbs and spices, bread box and coffee maker. Getting them in places that will not recreate the clutter I had before the work began. When I see how long that will take, not long I imagine, I’ll call Modern Bungalow and schedule the furniture delivery.
The ADL’s comments on these revisions, which I have read and with which I agree, make me remember the adage that history is written by winners. While this may be true in the short term, the job of historians and educators is to balance the winner’s version with the facts of how others were affected by the winner’s victories.