Cora's Corner

Every family member needs her or his own space in the house. I have my little computer desk tucked between the kitchen and the laundry room, and woe betide the one who moves my stuff around on it. My Beloved has his home office, which he glories in trashing for six months until it is impossible to walk across, then moaning and groaning and sighing through two days of weeding, filing and, when he can finally see the carpet, vacuuming. We share the bedroom and bath where we watch TV, sleep, shower and dress.

When Cora arrived three days after last Christmas, she came in a rush - her foster mother had an older dog who was ill with cancer so she was eager to move Cora to us. I didn't have time to buy food bowls and a bed to welcome her to the family, so I threw a flannel sheet over the upholstered slipper chair in our bedroom and hauled out these two bowls until I could buy "real" ones. Somehow, I never did get around to finding others.

The pressed glass water bowl was a garage sale score and the colorful, heart-shaped food bowl was a gift from Cousin J-Yah who found it and thought of me. Tucked into the only corner of my tiny kitchen where they wouldn't be knocked over daily, they nestle between the fridge and My Beloved's antique ice box that we use for wine storage.

I did find a nice dog bed with a washable zip-off cover, which fit exactly under the hall table where Cora can keep an eye on all our comings and goings - she's of herding stock and it shows. She uses it sometimes but her real bed is still that sheet-covered slipper chair next to my side of the bed.

When she first came, she sneaked into it only after the lights were out at night and leaped off as soon as we stirred in the morning, apparently thinking she was sinning. Lately, however, she has learned that we won't scold her for sleeping there, so she even puts herself to bed while we are still brushing our teeth and opening the sliding door to the sound of the quiet waves on the beach below. She curls up into the curve of the chair, a surprisingly small black ball for such a large dog, gives a heavy, g'night sort of a sigh, and drifts off to dream of chasing turkeys or sniffing butts or whatever it is that pulls little yips and twitches from her sleeping form.

It's hard to believe she has only been with us for a year; we can't imagine life without her now. She has a corner in the kitchen, a corner in the bedroom and a very large corner in our hearts.