Today is the last day of August.  There is a freeze warning tonight, and all my potted tomato plants have found (hopefully temporary?) homes in our living room.  The Jackson Hole summer is fleeting, and, as always, I wonder where the long, warm summer days have gone.
I've realized this year that it doesn't matter how much or how little I take on in a given summer - the time still flies by just as quickly, and the bite of fall in the air still shows up in late August. 
But all that only makes those fleeting summer days a bit better, reminding me to never take anything for granted, to never forget that this day is amazing. I try to live life to the fullest, every day.
I recently volunteered to manage a benefit for the family of an amazing Jackson Hole woman who passed away tragically in a car accident several weeks ago, leaving behind her husband and 3-month old daughter.  To be honest, I'm not even completely sure of my motivation; it was almost as if my brain didn't have a say, and my heart simply made a decision to do the only thing that I really felt I could actually do to help.
I didn't know Kristen Karn.  I knew of her business, a dog-sitting company that was highly recommended by just about every animal lover in our valley. I know that when I heard what had happened, I cried.  I cried because it's not fair.  It's not fair for bad things to happen to good people.  It's not fair that one of the many people who fought to make a life in this valley and STAY here, to raise a family here, and to make a living here, should be dealt such a deadly hand.  And it's not fair that all the people who loved her now have to mourn.  And more than anything, it's not fair that her husband has to go on without her; that her daughter has to grow up never knowing her mother; that our community has to continue to grow without such a vibrant participant.
But we know that life isn't fair.  I don't need to preach that here.  I just need to ask for everyone to remember why Jackson Hole is so amazing, and why we all have chosen to make this our home, to make our lives here.
So I signed up to work around the clock to create a (hopefully) magical day next month not for our community to mourn, but for us to remember.  We need to remember one of us who is gone but never forgotten; to remember why we call this place home; and most of all, to remember that nothing is worth more than this day.
Please.  Tell the ones you love that you love them.  Hug your dog.  Get into the mountains.  Smile into the sunshine.  LIVE VIBRANTLY.

Sweet Zaagi will be 11 in October of this year.  I know that she is an old dog because she sleeps through the sound of me taking the top off the jar of puppy biscuits; because she no longer swims in swift current; because she slips every day on the hardwood floor; because no longer climbs the stairs to sleep at the foot of our bed.

Last night, I asked her to please lie down on the living room floor so I could give her the summer haircut that she so deserved.  She’s patient and wonderful, easy to groom and happy to accept the attention.  She knows that she will feel better when I’m done, and I love the time I get to spend with her.  She’s one of the dearest loves of my life.

Zaagi came into my life just before I turned 19, a charismatic puppy who chased her older buddy around the yard, grabbing at the grown dog’s tail with all her puppy energy, frequently going for short flights as the end result of her efforts.  She was just what I needed, and when she chose me over all other people, I had only an inkling of what an honor this was.

In the years since then she has been my companion in all things, my partner in life, and a best friend of a quality that I never could have known existed without the experience itself.  She has swum wild rivers, hiked steep mountain trails, and somersaulted down snowy slopes.  At my side through all my hair-brained adventures, she always makes me smile.

So tonight, coat freshly chopped and still looking a little silly, she hopped down off the back porch into the lingering summer evening and somersaulted onto the grass.  She groveled on her back in sheer joy, looking like a big puppy, and then catapulted to her feet in the beginning of a gleeful old-dog zoom around the yard.

After one full loop she returned to me and Zonker, our younger dog who relentlessly torments her every day.  She is always patient with him, but usually remains calm and collected, far too dignified to deign to stoop to his level.

Tonight, she bowed toward him, tail wagging and inviting play.  She bounced like a puppy, playing off is youthful antics and luring him into a game of tag.  Eleven years dropped away and her sheer spirit dodged with him through the trees and in huge arcing circles in front of our deck.  Tonight I had the privilege to watch one of my favorite beings celebrate the joy of her life.  As always, she makes me smile.

  Now, as I write, Zaagi sleeps soundly at my feet, her snores resounding through the room like a small freight train.  She warms my feet and helps me remember that we must always celebrate the small things in life that bring us great joy.