I've heard the phrase "better lucky than good" spoken in our house more times than I could ever count. I would say 9 out of every 10 times, it is due to good timing. Maybe we are more observant than average, or maybe we are just unafraid of asking the right questions. But we seem to get to the right place at the right time an awful lot, in my opinion. I met the right person two weeks ago, the personal trainer at the Y, not only to give me the support I need to regain my strength, but also to challenge me to take my writing to a higher level. I met her right when I was kicking around the idea of other writing projects in addition to these daily posts, and she has presented an inspiration to make that a reality. The idea is still gestating, so I won't provide details until and unless it becomes reality. Early this morning, my eye caught on a Facebook post from an old friend who was putting out a call for a rental home in the town we just left, where we couldn't sell our old house. Our tenants gave notice they were moving out at the end of July, and this family needs a home in early August. I couldn't believe my luck. We've been in talks, and I hope she wants it. I loved that house, so I have to believe other people will as well.
I think my whole family, human, canine, and feline, is based on the right time, right place principle. I've told the story of my sidekick, the white cat who was on her way to the euthanasia room when my man swooped in and saved her. My little red-headed dog arrived just a few days later, another miracle save by my hero. We were driving along old Route 66 in California, at dusk, and in the dim light, he started to swerve the car around the dead dog in the road. Just as he began to turn the wheel, the "dead" dog picked his head up. The man slammed on the brakes, and was lucky that the car behind us both managed not to hit us, and not to run over the dog when he started to go around us in the center turn lane. I sometimes send a silent thanks to that unknown driver who sat behind us in the lane, with his hazard lights on, allowing my man to scoop up the dazed puppy and set him in the back seat of our car. The dog was mostly unharmed, having been knocked unconscious and hit hard enough in his hip to break a tiny flange off of the top of his femur or pelvic bone (I think the former). As his head started to clear, with a little dribble of blood coming from his nose, he focused on my voice as I talked to him soothingly. I think in that moment, he decided I was his, and he has been more loyal than any dog I've ever known before. He's the first dog I've ever felt I could trust to walk with me outside the yard, without a leash. (As long as he doesn't catch sight of a deer or a rabbit, that is. Then all bets are off.) He has been the best dog I've ever known personally, one of those once-in-a-lifetime companions that I hope everyone has a chance to know in their own lives. As I write this, he's in his usual spot, sleeping peacefully on the rug next to me. I am so lucky.
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