CANCELLED.

Well, rats and rats.

Sam I Am's first visit as a Therapy Dog was cancelled today because it is simply loathly out. It is sleeting, windy, gray, gross, and disgustful. I was suffering from a contagion of my dear husband's Pollyana-itis. I ignored the dire winter storm warnings. (In Western Kentucky, schools are closed if one-half inch of snow is forecasted.) I packaged up my sold eBay collars for shipment, and threw a stupefied Sammy in the shower with me. No time for my shower plus a downstairs dog room bath for him. It was two-fer time.

Our shower is a stall, no tub, and the shower curtain is clear plastic, and I don't think Sam has had a shower with me before, but he was strangely resigned to this odd turn of fate. He didn't panic, or even communicate his displeasure. He bravely endured his soaking, lathering, and rinsing, and as usual he rather enjoyed the toweling off. I think he understood the gravitas of this occasion. Although I could see his temptation, he resisted the usual post bath time zoomies. Instead, he curled up on our bed pillows, looking important, and watched me get ready to go.

I left him to get toasty warm and dry, while I zoomed off to my noon, non-dog related meeting. I thought I would zoom. The van windows were opaque with a thick coat of ice. We haven't needed windshield scrapers so much since moving to Western Kentucky. I couldn't find one in the van. There might be one, but I couldn't find one. I did find a cassette tape case. (Nancy Griffiths, I apologize. I certainly wouldn't want anyone to use my book to clear the ice off their windshield. But I took your tape out, and only used the plastic case, and I was dangerously close to being late.)

I cleared of a space about six inches by eight inches. I couldn't reach very high, and the van is a big fifteen passenger deal, which it quite tall. Nancy Griffiths' little three by four inch cassette case didn't extend my scope so much. I climbed into the van, and discovered that by scrunching my head below the steering wheel, I could see. I could see the road immediately in front of me. Off I crept.

I came home from that meeting dreading what message Bill would have for me. Sure enough, the call had come and the therapy visits were cancelled. Poop. Sam danced around me, knowing something special was happening. His nails were done, he was clean and sparkly and his teeth got an extra brushing. He had his special occasion collar on with his brand new Therapy Dog tag.

"Come on, buddy. Let's go to the Post Office."

It was a sad, sorry excuse of an activity, and by now the defroster had melted the ice on the windshield, so it wasn't even particularly adventuresome. We drove to the Post Office. I mailed my parcels and Bill's studio newsletters. We drove home. We live ten blocks from the Post Office.

"OK, Sam I Am, we're home!"

Dogs. In great good humor Sammy bounded out of the van, abjectly delighted to be back home again. He greeted everyone with wags and hipchecks, and did his 'I'm to sexy for my coat' dance.

Tomorrow I'm going alone to visit the women's shelter. If it can be arranged for Sam to visit one on one there - I don't want him to be mobbed by a crowd of over excited toddlers - I'll take him there this week.

He is ready to do this, and so am I.

Hug your hounds