The Secret My Dog Has Known About Me For 16 Years

If you love your dog, you might enjoy my new book, “Hope Possible: A Network News Anchor’s Thoughts On Losing Her Job, Finding Love, A New Career, And My Dog, Always My Dog.” It includes a number of essays about loving your dog. I’m thinking about my dog. Always, my dog. And the heavy load. Such a heavy load. The thoughts come each day as we wrap up our morning walk. It’s the only walk DarlaDog feels the need for these days.

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My Dog’s Getting The Last Laugh; The Chapter I Didn’t See Coming

Let me say, Dear Reader, that you are amazing. Wonderful. Clearly, you’re an over the top dog lover, like myself. The emails have been flooding in ever since I shared the latest chapter of my sweet Darla’s life in the column, “My Dog Is Teaching Me A Final Lesson.” I shared how my dog has been showing signs of slowing down, how she’s preparing me to let her go after more than 15 years together. I know, you can’t even

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My Dog Is Teaching Me A Final Lesson

My dog is getting me ready. She knows what’s coming in the way dogs know before we do. About a dangerous stranger, earthquakes, or bacon. She’s gently letting me know it will soon be time for her to go. It’s one of an infinite number of brilliant conversations I’ve had with my best friend. The friend who has never uttered a word in our more than 15 years together, but has taught me so much. “She’s not going anywhere,” Husband

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My Dog Leads The Way To Joy

To chore or not to chore. That is the question. The debate between people like me. Crazy mad dog lover. And people like my husband. People who don’t get the whole dog thing. “Have you done your chores this morning?” he’ll ask. Let me translate: “Have I walked you walked the dog?” No matter how I try to explain, he just doesn’t get the concept. Walking my dog is not a chore. It is, simply, Joy. I love watching the way her tail wags to

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Old Dog Love

Please catch my newspaper column each week in the Atlanta Journal Constitution, the Dayton Daily News and other newspapers across Ohio.  Here’s this week’s column: Many days she smells no better than an old blanket that’s been soaking in a bucket of sour milk for week. Her body sports more lumps than a bride’s first attempt at making mashed potatoes. Still, I look at her and know that I’m in love. She is my 13 ½ year old dog.  Together, we’ve reached a bittersweet

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