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In love again

The words rolled off his tongue so tenderly. Never mind that she was married. And had a child. Or that she belonged to a world so foreign to his. “I didn’t ask to fall in love with you. I just did.”

And now it has happened to me. Again.

Happily married I am. Thirty-seven years come August. Two children. Two (almost four) grandchildren.

Yet another male has stolen my heart.

Not that I make unfaithfulness a habit. I do not. There’ve been a few flirtations through the years. Some degree of intimacy here and there. A little safe affection. I suppose.

Until now, only other two males have caused me to fall dangerously in love with them. Head over heels. Had me from our first eye contact. They did. Even before hello.

One appeared here at my home back in 1998. A drifter. A shaggy brown haired terrier mix. Long ragged rope tied to his collar. Lost and alone until the moment our eyes met. Then we knew. Without a doubt. I was his and he was mine. For a while.

He was with me for little more than a year before he died. My heart broke. I cried for a month. He was the first pet I never really had to share with anybody else. Even now, thinking of him, I tear up.

Then there was Guthrie. Five months later. The cure for my heartache ... so they said. I fell again. Tumbled headlong into the spell he cast on me. A Jack Russell terrier spell, no less!

Anyone who has ever had a relationship with a Jack Russell knows there is no other dog that can compete with his energy. His spirit. His ability to rule!

And so I loved Guthrie. And then he died. Many of you sent me sympathy cards which I still treasure to this day. I keep Guthrie’s photograph by my computer. I look at it every day.

Guthrie was it for me. NEVER again would I fall so wildly in love. My younger son has pleaded with me not to cheat myself out of such joy. “Of course you can love again, Mom. You know it is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.”

Yeah, right. I cried over the loss of Guthrie for three months. Then I built my wall. For four years it has protected me. That wall.

And then it happened again. I met Scout.

My friend Barb, who had recently adopted Scout, went through open heart surgery a week or so before Christmas. I had not met Scout until the first time I went to her home following her release from the hospital.

There he was. In his pen. His world. Minding his own business. So much like Robert Redford in The Horse Whisperer.

And we would have been fine. Just fine. If we had avoided eye contact. It was his doing. His piercing gaze forced me to return it. Once our eyes met, my legs walked toward him in complete defiance of all instructions I was giving them to turn the other way.

In a matter of seconds I was stroking him. His tale was wagging. All four legs dancing to that tune only lovers know. Lovers at first glance.

I turned back to my car. Walked slowly. Did not look back. Should I get in? Leave immediately. Drive off with nary a word to my friend inside the house who was recovering from her triple bypass and awaiting my arrival?

I opened the car door slowly. I could hear him breathing, panting in the pen behind me. Really hard. Excited. Knowing he had made a new conquest. There is no telling how many others have fallen before me!

That’s when I saw it. The box of Cheezits. In the back seat. My emergency stash. For the road.

Aha! I reached for the box. Opened it. Took out one cracker. Only one. A first. Walked back to the pen. Gave it to him through the fence.

It was love. He had me. I had him.

He may live at Barb’s, but his heart belongs to me. “I didn’t ask to fall in love with him. I just did.”

Before me, he had only known dog food, apples and carrots. He may be the first male with whom I ever have freely, willingly, eagerly ... shared my Cheezits.