Wildflower Writes

“It’s a golden doodle,” said my co-worker. She had brought pictures of her new puppy to work. “A what?” I asked. “A cross between a golden retriever and a poodle. A golden doodle.” she repeated. The photograph showed a miniature canine with pale gold kinky fur, long ears, and bright black eyes. It was playing in the grass. “Where does the “d” come from in doodle?” I asked. A doodle was a scribble on a piece of paper. It was not a dog. “I don’t know!” she exclaimed, a little exasperated with me. I remember the days when dogs stuck to their own kind. There were no schnoodles or doodles or mi-kis. Who do we think we are, messing with nature? My first dog was one third red setter, one third husky, and one third collie. I’m not sure how you breed a dog by thirds, but that was how I remember it. Her name was Frances. She loved to run through the open field at the end of the road. Frances also liked to swim, which was bad news whenever she managed to escape from the house. S...

They swam in squiggles and lazy circles- gold, pink, speckled. “That one’s fat!” said my daughter. “Look! There’s more over here!” exclaimed my son, pointing to the far area of the koi pond at the front of the Chinese restaurant. For just a moment, I lost myself in my children’s world, gazing at the large multi-colored fish as they swam through the clear water, gliding past one another in silence, fins moving gracefully back and forth. “I like the blue speckled one,” I said, pointing. “What’s a speckle?” asked my daughter. I tried to explain and tried to stay in that world as long as possible, looking almost longingly as the carved Chinese men decorating the bridge across the faux mountain range. As adults we are so anxious and busy, we rarely take time to notice the small delights around us. Sometimes, we even force our children along when they want to enjoy the journey. There may not even be a reason, except we have a never-ending “to-do” list that has taken top importance in ...