Who Are You?

I was maybe six years old, sitting out in the bleachers at a school event. Because I was wearing a little cross around my neck, the teacher beside me asked, "Are you Catholic?"

Indignant, I replied, "No! I'm Irish!"

I had no idea why Mrs. Bobis burst out laughing, but I still remember how mad it made me--showing my celtic nature, I guess. But my father was raising his children as diehard Irish (and to my mother's people I now say, "Sorry, Germany.")

My point is... how important is your heritage? 

According to Rose's shelter paperwork, 25% of her lineage is unknown--probably the result of a passing dog without pedigree or curfew. But we do know she's a full three quarters Siberian husky. Experts who study such things describe huskies as gentle with children (and intruders), carefree, energetic, athletic, and a couple of other "etics" that make them a handful to live with. So I guess we have ourselves a typical husky.

And their love of snow? That part's true too.

Rose is getting on in years, but re-finds her jaunty puppy self every time she steps out into the snowy, very snowy, oh-so-snowy winter we've been having.

Yesterday, however, it hit a balmy 64° in our little township, and though it brought me outside for the year's first martini on the porch, Rose's mood was less festive. I don't think the troubled look on her face (below) is about how ugly the prairie plantings look this time of year.

But seasons change, and Rose isn't remembering that it's almost time to start digging in the mud, so she'll be cheering up again soon.

In the meantime, just for fun, I'll spend a few minutes thinking about my personal bloodlines and their stereotypes. I've always thought myself to be as Irish as Rose is husky--but I know I've got some German in here somewhere, and today I'm going to find it.