I remember Lady Blue, my loyal wild desert dog-friend. She was with me in my first house in Coronado, California; in the evening, she went with me to college and waited in the old gold car; we went to Tennessee on the last goodbye trip before Dad left, forever. She nibbled at his heels in the RV we stayed in during the visit because he was just too close to me. (Cotton-picken, dog!) She protected me from those who would approach the car I was driving, or the sidewalk as I walked in the "village" -as the Coronado locals liked to call the small tourist town. It was difficult to get an apartment or house with her; once I had to take her to an interview so that the house manager could determine her suitability to alley-house residence. I gave her a bath, brushed her shinny black fur and dressed her neck with a dark red bandanna. "I guess she's alright," the retired administrator commented. I held my choked but insufficient retort in check- “alright? Alright?!!” My Lady Blue was the most important friend to me when I was alone in a new state. She continued to stand by me while adapting to my new friends and marriage. She protected me from those who would harm a free-spirited young woman who liked to walk outside at night and breathe in the moonlit pine, and gaze through lamp-lit windows into the lives of those affluent locals whose well tended homes lined the golf course. One night, we were walking and, uncharacteristically, a hail storm struck. She entertained me with her antics, diving into the grass and rubbing her face, while small hard balls of ice struck us both. I laughed and ran with her, trying to find shelter from the pelting hail. Lady Blue, her life was so much more important than her death. And even though she was a dog, she gave me the heart to love difficult people as I dealt with her flees, her skin condition and the carpet smell (!) ...and too, the complaining neighbors, landlords requesting her removal, and new laws forbidding her freedom such as running in the cool early morning on the empty expansive Coronado beach without a leash. She was with me as I grieved my father and mother's death, never tired of my need for quiet comfort. Lady Blue sat with me when I practiced my first asana on the desert sand in Twenty-nine Palms, California where I first discovered her; a stray they thought was half coyote. Lady Blue, whose yoga was to teach me about power and its judicious use; a bridge to my own independence, I honor you.Note: Thank you, Mark, for your blog posting, "The Stone" in The Red Beech Tree which inspired me to reflect about Lady Blue.
