Simon is a fifteen-week, blue weimaraner who possesses that perfect blend of tenderness and bubbling curiosity. He joins me on walks, cuddles with me on the couch, knows how to sit, and is learning to play fetch. His latest guilty pleasure is untying my apron strings while I cook. Yesterday, he got his first Rabies shot, a rite of passage in the life of a young pup, and at twenty-eight pounds he's already outgrown his first collar. I've always wanted a weim, but humbled by the energy and demands this breed reportedly makes of its owners, I thought it best to wait until my children were raised and grown. Ha! One flew the coup. And though another's still here, I found myself blind sided by grief from a wayward child on the heels of a brother's sudden death and a father's lost battle with cancer. Then I found Simon at Beck's Grey Ghosts here in Georgia, sired by a silver and born to a blue. I just couldn't say no. Now I can't imagine my life without him.
Simon proves to be exactly what I've needed. Initially, he kept me busy chasing puddles and poops, leaving me little time to sit around feeling sorry for myself while neighbors put out jack-o-lanterns and harvest wreaths and Christmas lights. Now Simon is pretty well house broken, and I've made it through "the holidays" with surprisingly fewer tears than expected. And...somewhere along the way, I've begun to rediscover what I've always known. Life goes on, and that life is still good. Truly.
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