Mamas Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up To Be Strippers

I was in the lingerie section in Target when a family rolled up next to me.  Mama was a little round thing leading the way and Daddy was pushing a cart filled with two adorable little girls who appeared to be preschool age.
Mama joined me in perusing the thong display.  Honestly, I'm not really a thong advocate, but it's hard for me to pass up anything that has pink elephants printed on it...  apparently Mama felt the same way.  She was the chattery sort & I was learning lots about their family during our time together.  The girls were named Mia & Hawaii (pronounced How-I-ya).  My apologies if you are reading this and now realize I'm talking about someone in your family, but at least you'll know I'm not making this stuff up.
Then she pulls out one of the pink elephant thongs, holds it up to examine it, and says "I wonder if these come any smaller."
I gave her a quick sideways glance, thinking maybe my mind had played tricks on me when I first looked at her, but I had thought she was larger than me, and no way am I getting in something that sma......

That's when it hit me.  Gasp!  She's. not. looking. at. thongs. for. her. self.

Daddy read my mind, "I'm not buying those for her."
Mama says "Well, yer jus' gonna hafta face the fact that she's growin' up!!"
At this point, I dropped any pretense of minding my own business and just waited for Daddy to respond.
He said "she's 6."

I'm stunned.  Who would have thought that A MAN could be the voice of reason?

Butter

I had just turned 40 and I was miserable.  The business I had dreamed of creating was auguring in and--did I mention--I had just turned 40.  I had reached the point of operating on autopilot--no joy.

Two days after my birthday, I was driving home from church when this fuzzball tottering in & out of the road just ahead caught my eye.  I pulled over and dodging cars, grabbed her out of the road.  I didn't know what else to do so I took her home.

Phil & I studied her in the kitchen where she stood-dazed.  "I think she's blind" I said; her eyes were covered in an opaque white that old dogs get when their vision fails.  She was filthy, covered in ticks & fleas; there was a bite missing out of her ear and the pads of her paws were shredded.  The area where I picked her up is a known dumping ground for unwanted pets.  "I bet she's old and somebody didn't want to deal with her anymore."

I took her to the vet the next day where we discovered she wasn't blind; she had a bad eye infection.  And she wasn't "old"; she was no more than 7 or 8--not really old for a small dog.  She appeared to be a full-blooded Pembroke Welsh Corgi, so I was certain someone was missing her.  We tried to track down her owners, but no one claimed her.  So she came to live with us at the Daisy Hill Retirement Home for Dogs and we named her "Butter."

As she began to 'come around', so did I.  Nursing this wayward pup back to health (or some semblance of it) restored mine.  She needed me, but not as much as I needed her.  I called her my 40th birthday present from Heaven.

Today, life is infinitely better for me.  But a few weeks ago, Butter's health began to falter again.  We knew there would be no saving her this time.  The years prior to her arrival had taken a toll that would never allow her to be an old, old dog.

Last night, Miss Butter died in her sleep.  I knew when my feet hit the floor this morning and I didn't hear the familiar trun-trun-trun of her steps behind me that she was gone.

I remember one night when we were dining with friends-in telling the tale of Butter-I referred to her as a "rescue".  Phil interjected "I'm not sure who rescued who".

Indeed.

Thank you, Butter, for saving me.