Day 44: Rumblings

I woke this morning to the sound of a rather unusual alarm.

You might be thinking, "It's Valentine's Day weekend. Perhaps her husband played romantic music and served breakfast in bed."

No. (Although he did make me a lovely ham roast on the 14th.)

I woke to the sound of vomit.
Vomit has a very distinctive sound.

Cat vomit sounds like this:
Hurk ... hurk ... hurk ... hurk ... speeewwww ... munch-munch-munch.
And then screaming. My screaming. Especially if it's in the heater. Cat puke is really hard to clean out of a heater.

Dog vomit sounds like rocks rumbling in an empty can ... and then BLEAGH at the end.

As I toyed with the idea of climbing out from under the covers to face the light of day, I heard the rumbling.
And then .... BLEAGH.
And Mickey's ear was deposited on the carpet.
And more was deposited on a white quilt.
I'll spare you the description.

Let's just say we both jumped out of bed wide-eyed, alert, and definitely not in the mood for beef stew.

As I was cleaning up the mess, the irony of the whole situation struck me.
A month ago, I worried to the verge of panic about the possibility of the dogs swallowing a plastic bag of cat treats. They hadn't. Today I found out that they had swallowed something. I hadn't worried about it, but it happened just the same.

And then I wondered where Mickey's other ear was.*
And then I had to make a decision.

But it was one of those decisions you have to make the same way over and over and over again for the rest of your life.

I am learning not to worry.

I am a worst-case scenario worrier. I think of the worst thing that could possibly happen ... and then worry that it might. But today I realized that I cannot know - much less control - my future. And if I did, I would probably curl up in a ball and die.

Because life is loss.
Time is a blessing that keeps us from experiencing all pain at once ... and allows us to experience joy.

My future is woven from the fabric of past decisions.
None of which I can undo.
Because I have only been given the present.

If the dogs die ... life will go on.
If more library jobs are cut and I have to go work at Tim Hortons ... life will go on.
If I never sell a single book or piece of artwork ... life will go on.

I can't take back the decision to buy an old house and two new vehicles and renovate an entire floor and give a home to two big (intact) dogs - all in the last calendar year.

But I can live in the present and trust God for the future.

And in the midst of it all, I can hear the rumblings. Rumblings of transformation.

"If I find in myself desires which nothing in this world can satisfy, the only logical explanation is that I was made for another world." - C.S. Lewis

Have a happy Saturday!

At least two of my men are happy.
The other one is probably looking for a nice warm heater to hurk into.

*We had removed Mickey the night before because Sam was ripping him to shreds. Apparently, it wasn't soon enough. I am pretty sure I put the plastic piece from Mickey's other ear in the garbage, but to be honest, I don't know. He's eating and pooping with gusto and seems to be fine ... other than catching a whiff of a neighborhood dog in heat on our walk this morning.

If I ever breed dogs, I will live in the country.
Or I could just join in the howling.