White Dog raised her head and looked at all of her brothers and sisters slumbering around us. "Friday the 13th doesn't seem like such bad luck," she said before yawning and putting her head back on the pillow.
I had to agree. Surrounded by the White Dog Army and wrapped in their peace, it was impossible to think that my luck was anything but the most wonderful and good.
I smiled at YoYoMa in particular. He is my protector and doesn't ask for much. He is confident and sure of his place in the world. Yo is pretty independent but this afternoon had chosen to come and curl up at my feet, a rare treat for me. I leaned over but did not touch him, instead I just watched his calm even breathing rise and fall. Eskies have white eyelashes, you know, and I could see them softly flutter in the eye movements of deep sleep.
YoYoMa shifted against my leg so that he was sprawled one leg in the air, totally vulnerable. I longed to drop my hand and stroke his belly but knew he would awaken and the magic would be lost. Instead I matched my breathing rhythm to his.
Most of you know the amazing bliss of watching a furchild in Universal serenity wrapped in total trust. It fills the soul like few things can. You do not want to move for fear of interrupting the connection. You pray for time to stand still. And so it was with YoYoMa.
The part that brought me to tears was seeing the others, equally enveloped the sanctuary of our pack, filling our home...and me...with so much trusting love that bad luck never stands a chance.