It’s been a long four years.

Surgeries, repeated tumors, ongoing major side effects, medications, constant doctors. But I’m here — teaching, playing, busy. It takes a lot of support. From my husband and my team of doctors of course, but also from a young chap named Eli. I often call him my Familiar.

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He’s always with me. If I’m upstairs, so is he. If I’m downstairs, so is he. When I was in my sick bed, so was he. If I lie down to take a nap, so does he. (Nearly on top of me, of course.) If I’m having a particularly bad day, he can tell, and stays even closer. I tear-up even just talking about it. I’m told that when they accidentally poisoned me and made me a crazy person in the hospital, I was calling for him.

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We are very much alike, this five-year-old and I. But of course, I raised him. He’s very intelligent, and probably just learned it from me —

He doesn’t like unannounced intruders. He dislikes people (or squirrels, or birds) fidgeting around our property. He does not like noise. He is hyper-emotional and easily upset, but he is also easily made wildly happy by small kindnesses. There are times when he absolutely just wants to sit there and be left alone. Also, we both hate wearing hats.

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The amount of sentences, tones, and words he understands amazes me. But then, that’s the mysterious intelligent-dog thing.

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His birthday is Thanksgiving, which I think is poetic. It also helps me remember how old he is, because we’re not very good with that sort of thing in our house. We always have to count dog birthdays and human anniversaries. I’m constantly having to try to remember how old I am.

When Eli had just come home, I had to go to a choir practice the next evening. There was a church member that was a thorn in my side … actually a thorn in everyone’s side. The guy was shocked that I would bring a puppy (however silent) to choir practice. Everyone else, of course, was charmed. My thought was, “I’m the staff member, the leader, and it’s my choir practice. I’ll bring an ostrich if I want to.”

But, the guy was visibly irritated. So, Eli walked over and peed on his choir folder. Good boy. The rest of the choir and I laughed ourselves silly. Ginny, a beloved older singer who had been in the choir for forty years laughed the loudest.

So, we’ll end with a puppy picture from that week. He was 11 weeks old, and that’s a 3 foot wide bed!

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