A gray, cloudy sky hovered overhead the entire day today. At times, the clouds seemed to part as a sliver of sunlight attempted to peek through. The sight, simultaneously eerie and beautiful, had an effect on me I couldn’t explain. It nearly took my breath away. I scampered around the house opening doors and windows, allowing Mother Nature to enter into my little world, to swirl my curtains around, to slam a door I hadn’t properly propped open, and to whistle through the cracks and crevices of my home. I love this kind of day. Well, I usually love this kind of day. Today, however, as I watched the storm brew around me, I suddenly think of another day, just like this day, a day eight years ago.

It was a dreary kind of day. The sky was gray and cloudy, just like me. “Does Mother Nature” feel my feelings? Does she know the turmoil and chaos (the storm) brewing in my mind? Does she understand the howling, whirling, whistling sounds swirling around in my head as I have to make an extremely difficult decision today.

Today, I have to take Nicki, my 16-year old pekingese to the vet for what I know will be her last visit to the vet…her last day on this earth. My heart is breaking, the pain is unbearable. I look into her eyes, and I can see her pleading with me, “Please let me go. I am tired. My body is tired. I cannot fight anymore. I don’t want to. I want to be at peace and pain free.” I know I have to let her go. I know I have to do what is in her best interest. But, I am selfish, and I try to convince myself that she will pull through once again…just like she always does. We just need a new medication and time. Unfortunately, I also know I’m kidding myself. I realize her time has come, and that my time has come to say farewell.

As I remember that day, I remember my gloomy mood, my aching heart, the pounding in my head. I remember cradling her fragile, skeletal body in a blanket and holding her as gently as I would a baby; talking to her, soothing her (and myself), telling her everything would be alright. She literally fell asleep in my arms on the ride to the vet. I remember walking into the clinic, knowing that once I walked through the door, there was no turning back. I remember telling the doctor that I didn’t want her to feel any pain, and the doctor assured me she wouldn’t. I remember sitting on the floor, cradling her in my lap. The doctor placed an IV in her foreleg, and then gently, ever so gently, she administered the medication that would forever take away the pain. We (Tim, Tina, Ricky and I) sat there, our little family, crying softly as we watched our Nicki close her eyes for the last time.

We stayed for a little while, huddled on the floor, trying to regain some composure before walking out of the clinic. I remember as I left the clinic, holding Nicki wrapped in her blanket, there was a break in the clouds, and a sliver of sunlight broke through…

My brain, a wireless network, scrambling from one subject to another. Or is it wireless? Maybe that’s the problem! there are too many wires…criss-crossing all over the place, shorting out, sending some (not all) sparks of information across the scrambled highway known as my brain.

Have you ever wondered where your name came from? Why it’s the name your mom and dad gave you the day you were born? Why it wasn’t the cool name you would have picked for yourself? With all these questions bouncing around in my head like electrons in an atom A4atom.jpg, I began to think about my name. Thinking about my name made me think about the person I was named after.

To begin with, I know I am named after my great-grandmother, Virginia, which really makes me feel special since she was such an extraordinary woman. To me, she was “Omsi,” but to those who knew her as Virginia, she was an educated, strong-willed woman who lived life to the fullest. Born in Romania to a duke and duchess, she chose to give up her birthright and marry her true love, a commoner. She taught herself seven languages, because she thought is was important for an individual to be able to communicate with others. She was a lady…I found an old etiquette book in her old attic, and she had written in the margins all the proper etiquette one needed when entertaining Americans: how to greet them, how to set a formal table, and how to sit like a lady!

No, Virginia probably is not the name I would have chosen for myself. However, it is the name my parents chose for me, and they chose it in honor of a woman whom they both love and respect. I too, love and respect her and only hope that I live up to my namesake (I don’t know about the seven languages)!

My daughter and I were dog-sitting for my sister this evening…yes, dog-sitting. Anyway, she (my sister) has a new member in her little family. She adopted a dog from Animal Control (that’s a story in itself), and he’s the cutest little thing! He’s a Chihuahua or part Chihuahua, and he’s so shy. He was sidling up to Tina (my daughter), sniffing her stockinged feet and softly wagging his tail. Tina was scratching him behind his ear, when all of sudden, she said, “How is it that something this small, this tiny, actually descended from the wolf? How is that all dogs are descended from the wolf?”
   The only answer I could come up with was, “Many years of breeding.” But, then I began to think, how does a tiny, little bit nothing truly come from a wolf?” Where in the world did the selective process start? What makes a Chihuahua a Chihuahua; a Pekingese a Pekingese; a Border Collie a Border Collie? I mean if they ultimately share the same ancestors, where did the difference begin? Where did the “odd wolf out” come from to start the process of the different breeds? Today, it’s easy to understand how breeders use different breeds to create new ones, but in days gone by, where did those different breeds come from?