I had to explain today about life after death. How can I explain that? I've no experience. Or have I? And if I have, it's obvious that the Haitian from 'Heroes' has come to erase my entire memory of it. OK, so the reason that I write of this is because I heard a lady say she wanted to be a dog in her next life. What a life! A dog? Don't get me wrong. I love dogs. I mean LOVE dogs. I just don't think it's an ideal life. Someone whips you around by the neck with a collar and leash. You are forced to eat toenails and chicken beaks (I've seen these strange hairs sticking out of the treats and they are nasty!). Why a dog?
What is this little collection? A rock and of course a pine cone. I find pine cones everywhere. We have two coniferous trees out back, none with cones. Or rather, cones that are not picked or even noticed. We have pine cones from Northwestern Ontario, Lake Superior, Muskoka, Southern Ontario. Every where we go, *Mila* finds a pine cone, stashes it in her pocket for like four hours and then stores it in the oddest of places. I found under her bed an entire shoe box full of rocks, leaves and pine cones. Instead of tossing it, I labeled it "Treasures" and I put it back where I found it. After all, when I "come back" as a dog, I might need to gnaw on one of those pine cones to pluck the toenails from my teeth.
signed, the willow.
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