This is Ben. He is a 10 month old Labrador puppy. On a foolhardy day 8 months ago my husband, who is usually known for his stability, rationality, and forethought, handed me $500 cash as I headed out the door with my 20 year old daughter to “look” at Labrador puppies. Of course anyone knows if one has cash that equals the cost of a Labrador puppy, and one sets out to examine Labrador puppies, (and by examine I mean pick them up and hold them to one’s bosom, inhaling that sweet puppy breath), then one is quite likely to bring said puppy home. Any smart person would have run from that place. Ben’s mother had “hot spots” all over her, a sign that she had a skin condition that requires lots of medical attention and therefore more cold hard cash. But no, I did not run. Ben put his soft muzzle into my chest and gently breathed his wonderful puppy breath into my nostrils. I took out the cash my husband had given me and paid the man as quickly as I could, already deeply in love with this adorable little puppy and happily walked to my van to head home.

Now, I had forgotten how mischievous a Labrador puppy is and how long it takes for him to mature. Since that fateful day that I brought his cuteness home to dwell with our little family, we have garnered many “Ben” stories to tell. And over time, I will tell them, however today I am going to talk about one in particular we call the “Christmas Tree Incident.”

Before I begin, I want to introduce you to the other character in the story, a fun and feisty black cat named Cassius. Cassius was “fostered” as a young kitten with Great Danes and so his identity is somewhat confused and he likely thinks he is at least part dog. From the day we brought him home from animal control where my daughter and I had not gone to adopt a new kitten, but to get our elderly black Labrador, Maddy, her rabies shot, he has been right at home with the dogs. At that time we had Karma, a tricolor Sheltie and Maddy, the Labrador. (Both have since gone on to cross Rainbow Bridge and are frolicking in fields together, awaiting all of us to join them sometime in the future.) Cassius immediately began attacking the Labrador in boxeresque fashion giving her the ole one-two punch/slap with his small paw, hence the name Cassius for the famous boxer Cassius Clay. (We didn’t really think Mohammed or Ali would be fitting names…) Since the loss of Karma and Maddy, Cassius has matured somewhat, more or less, or less, and has now taken on the immense job of training Ben to be a good Labrador and “big” brother to him. (There are many other stories to tell about this training exercise which I will also save for another day.) Finally, this is the story of the Christmas Tree Incident:

This year I waited until Christmas Eve eve to put up our Christmas tree. (Why so late? I am quite the ADD/absent minded and disorganized person and I work many hours. These are the best excuses I can muster.) I stayed up until 2:30 in the morning putting up the small tree, carefully placing each of the treasured ornaments on the lighted branches. I have meticulously labeled all the ornament containers (i.e. zip lock bags with tissue paper in them) with the title of each ornament, where it originated, and the (approximate) date it was acquired. (I do try to be organized…) Most of the ornaments have a special story and sentimental value to our family. There is the little basketball player that I bought for my husband, to signify the period of time he played basketball in leagues and pick-up games. There is the special LSU ornament ball I acquired during my time at LSU. There are all the sweet little ornaments our daughter made when she was a child. There is the crystal hot air balloon, a memento of my parents 50th wedding anniversary in which my father surprised my mother with a hot air balloon ride in the mountains of New Mexico. There is the blue ribbon ornament I bought in 2001, memorializing those lost on 9/11. I love looking at them, reminiscing about times past, and then basking in the radiance of the tree with all the little shining treasures reflecting not only the lights on the tree but the memories in my heart.

Let’s return to Cassius and Ben. Cassius was busy schooling Ben in the art of dodging the Labrador by running at high rates of speed around and behind furniture, through very small spaces that no 75 pound Labrador will ever be able to penetrate. During this particularly enjoyable exercise on Christmas day, Cassius rounded the tree which was in the corner of the living room right next to the love seat where he knew he would lose Big Ben, trapping him on the outside while he sat smugly between the back of the couch and the wall. Although the space between the tree and the wall was quite small, in fact too small for Big Ben to squeeze by, this did not deter or slow him one bit. He was in chase! When he rounded the tree, squeezing his body between it and the wall, the pretty little tree came tumbling down, landing on the carpet in front of it. We heard the crash throughout the house. I kept working in the kitchen without realizing the gravity of the situation. When the tree fell, it landed upon and crushed some of our favorite ornaments. Moments later, when we finally arrived at the scene of the crime and picked up the little tree to put it upright once again, we found the broken pieces of our memories scattered on the floor like little bits of our hearts. My mother heard my gasp and came into the room and to survey the damage. I was “oh no-ing” when I noticed the beautiful crystal ball from St. Jude’s Hospital that was given to our family after a sweet neighborhood family lost their dear daughter Emily to leukemia. “Oh no, Emily’s ornament!” I began to cry. “This is why we hold all things loosely” my mother said. My first response was to bristle inside and think to myself that she doesn’t understand – did I mention that my adolescent self is alive and well, and I’m sad to say, in charge of me more often that I would like to admit? But my next thought, from the ever maturing and slightly sassy woman inside, was that my dear mother had lost all of her Christmas decorations, the valuable and the sentimental, in a fire a few years ago. I had to admit that perhaps she was right. Perhaps this lesson will resonate with the part of me that is sometimes ready to let go of things and focus instead on what is really important in life. I had been thinking for several years that it was time to pare down my storage house of belongings and give them to those in need. After reading the book 7 by Jen Hatmaker last year, I had taken the challenge during lent to give away 7 things a day from our home. I’m sad to say it didn’t even make a dent in the masses of “stuff” that has accumulated in the unused bedrooms, cabinets, and closets of our home. With a bit of reflection I realized that Emily is in my heart and I will never forget her or the way she poured herself out for the benefit of others in her short life, the way she organized the “Chemo Crew” in preparation for the next Relay for Life event, one that she would not live to see. I will remember her faith and that of her family as they stood by her side and her body gave way to the ravages of the cancer within. I will remember my daughter as a sweet little girl making special gifts of ornaments for her parents, the seedlings of a beautiful young woman who cares about the least of these, a young woman, who touched by the struggles of minorities in gangs decided to make her life’s work one of service to others. I will remember my inspiring parents who modeled for me lives of love and service, who noticed those in need and responded, showing me how to live like the good Samaritan. I will think of the loving sacrifices of my giving husband who has always surrendered his own wishes to give to his family. I will remember that the innumerable people who have touched my life will live on in the ways that my life was changed as a result of knowing them and experiencing their love. I, in following their lead, will touch and love others, and the ripples of affection will be ever flowing to places I know not.

Cassius on the Fence…his favorite spot to look down upon Ben