When I was a child my parents read the story of Barney Beagle to me. Barney is a beagle who lives in a pet store and who is waiting for his boy to come and take him home. A few people come into the store all looking for their dog, each person has a look about them which hints at the best fit. As new owner and dog go home, it is clear they were made for each other. One day, a mean boy comes in and wants to take Barney home but he is not Barney’s boy and the mean boy leaves the pet store empty-handed. Finally, could it be? Is that him? It IS! It IS Barney’s boy. Anyone could see that!And happily ever after they go.
At the time, I thought it was cute that the poodle went home with a woman who looked like a poodle and dalmatian went home with the man looking like a dalmatian and Barney’s boy had floppy ears and looked clumsily excited, just like Barney.
Often when I sit with Analaigh in quiet reflection gently passing the time thinking while staring exhaustedly at Rose bouncing with insatiable joy or I walk staring at the ground dreading the encounter which will draw my gaze upwards forcing me to engage with the people in my quiet world or I cry and cower when I hear a heavy stomp, see a shadow move, or feel unhappy energies around me I wonder if she thinks to herself:
“She IS my girl. Anyone can see that!“
One day, I wrote of ‘Too Much Rose’. But she’s not too much, is she? She is wonderfully, perfectly full of life and love and happiness and wants only to share it with her world one tail wag, one belly rub, one cuddle, one face-licking-off session at a time.
I remember most of the times I heard it spoken. I caught most of the times it was merely implied. An angry, hurt, young boy tormented his sister saying our parents cast us off because she was too much, the added burden, the second child. A frustrated, young mother plagued with a mouthy, teenaged daughter accused her of being boy crazy, always obsessing over silly things. Again a frustrated mother disconnected from the now wall-protected grown daughter annoyed by her being different “for the sake of being different.” An aunt who always took the time in every family situation to caustically suggest happiness would not be found unless claiming the attention of the room.
“Why can’t you do anything small?”
“Why must you obsess about everything?”
“When you visit you steal [his] attention.”
“You love being center of attention.”
“Of course he left you, you loved him too much?”
You fear in the presence of a man and a brother–or father, or master, or what you will–to smile too gaily, speak too freely, or move too quickly…I see at intervals the glance of a curious sort of bird through the close-set bars of a cage: a vivid, restless, resolute captive is there; were it but free, it would soar cloud-high. -Mister Rochester (Jane Eyre) by Charlotte Bronte
I love fiercely.
I laugh heartily.
I dance poorly.
I sing loudly.
…when I am climbing…
In climbing, there is no too much.
Climbing is freedom
And I soar cloud-high.
As polar opposites as they may be Rose can equally as honestly claim for herself:
“She is MY girl! Anyone can see that!“