This week we celebrate Ella's birth. We have a rough idea when she was born based on the information we got from the Animal Services' paperwork that came with her. I chose October 1st as her birthday. This time of year suits her perfectly. She is such a fall colored dog. She has deep amber eyes and a brown, gold and rust mottled coat; like God sprinkled autumn leaves on her the day she was born. To think we saw her as a plain brown pup when we first laid eyes on her at the adoption event!
Ella is an outdoor gal. She makes me wish we had a farm for her to run on. But she is satisfied with running at the dogpark and leaping on lizards in the yard. She smiles alot these days, which makes my heart sing. Her tail, which a trainer said we may never see in a normal carriage, would make any catahoula proud. It curls up towards her back when she's in full alert and whirls like a rotor blade when she's really happy.
I used to think Ella was raised by a cat because she walked on the tips of her toes, never made a sound and pounced on her toys. She still has some of those traits, but she's secure enough in her home now to place her feet firmly on the floor and baby, she has found her voice. I consider this a delayed teenage stage of vocal liberation. She yips when she's happy and wants attention. She barks when she's alerted to squirrels. She sounds full alarm when she sees possible intruders, and she rants at the ducks who dare to waddle by our front window.
It has been a fascinating three years with this catahoula girl. I feel a dangerous bond with this dog, one of those painful relationships it is hard to separate from when there's a need. I know she trusts me and I try to live up to that. Who knows maybe someday, there will be a farm in her life. For now, there's all that life in suburbia with two doting humans and a jack russell sidekick can offer a dog. Happy Birthday Ella!
