Flowers for a dog: It's not barking mad

That's right. My puppy got a gorgeous bouquet of flowers and a get-well note last week. "Being under a car can make you feel under the weather," says the note, adding that hopefully Bella will be chasing balls again soon. Bella is - amazingly - back to her old self after tasting the front bumper of the neighbor's minivan. I was sure she would be dead, but I arrived in tears at the emergency animal clinic that night to find her limping and shaking, but otherwise OK. A set of X-rays the next day confirmed that there were no broken bones, and she had no signs of internal injuries. Now, almost two weeks later, her limp is gone. She has no signs of trauma, save for a need to stay a little closer to my heels. We are unbelievably lucky.

I used to silently mock people who treated their pets like people, who pampered them and dressed them and spent hundreds of dollars to keep them alive in situations more dire than this. "It's just an animal," I used to think. "Get a little perspective." I just didn't get people who were devastated by the death of their pet. Let me tell you something: Having my little friend with me for the past 10 months has taught me a lot about having a judgmental spirit. Bella has brought great joy to my heart during a stressful, difficult season. She reminds me what pure love is, and she makes me laugh when the world makes me want to cry. She has reminded me that you never really understand what someone's going through unless you've walked the same road. Now I understand those people I used to inwardly mock. I understand the love for an animal that makes you weep when you think they've died. And the same lesson applies to any number of situations. Single parenting is harder than married or single people can fathom. Difficult marriages are harder than happily married people or single people can imagine. Singleness is harder than happily or unhappily married people can believe. We are so, so quick to judge. Bella has taught me more about humility and extending grace to others than I ever would have dreamed.

So thank you, little one. And thanks for the flowers, Auntie Lee.

Bella survives head-on collision with minivan

My beautiful pup got hit by a minivan last night after she darted out the front door. Scared her poor mama to death. More later on her condition. Before her brush with death, she annihilated my computer's power cord, so my minutes are numbered.

Tapping my inner Michelangelo

I am up far too early on a Saturday, thanks to an exuberant puppy who was too well rested to let her mama sleep in. I could be doing something productive with this time, but those who know me understand that I am not functional before 10 a.m. (And that's an improvement from the old days!) So I did a load of dishes, sent out some school-related e-mails, and am now curled up in my new jammies and looking for an amusing way to procrastinate.

Enter: drunken painting.

Turns out Alabamans relax by purchasing cheap wine and doing Monet impersonations. When I visited this summer, I thought I'd give it a whirl. (The painting, not the drinking.) There is a nifty little business called Sips n Strokes. You arrive with a beverage of your choosing and check your artistic insecurity with the coat girl. You are commissioned a small set of brushes, a cardboard palette (with stern instructions to start with no more than two pumps of each color) and - the piece de resistance - your own paint-splattered smock or apron worn by the last 200 tipsy customers who regretted not spending more of their youth at renaissance festivals or hookah lounges.

Our task: paint a ballerina. No men showed up for this particular lesson, though I'm assured they do attend when the image is less threatening to their masculinity. There were about 15 women stationed at long tables and small, tabletop easels with white canvases. The instructor demonstrated each step in the evolution of the ballerina, and surprisingly enough, four hours later there were a couple dozen rosy-cheeked artists proudly displaying 15 very distinct bipeds in tutus.

I think the Alabamans are onto something.