A Magic Moment

One of a kind. We Kwanatics love to make up words for our Kween. The Kwandruple. Kwanderful. We all agree that the Kween Rached in Rachmaninoff, a program so superbly controlled and paced, many of us can spend hours looking at it on our DVDs and discussing it.

Yep, like our keeper books. I can discuss Wuthering Heights forever. I can reread Anne Stuart's old Harlequins over and over.

And Michelle Kwan's uber enough to be in a Simpson's cartoon show ;-). I kept trying to think of a romance character that would get instant recognition on The Simpsons. Scarlett O'Hara, perhaps? A more recent one? That's tougher. Can you come up with one? She/he has to be an icon, at least. Much as I love Zane McKenzie, nobody outside our romance world would really know him if he appears in The Simpsons.

So, where was I...uberness strives for perfection and that magic moment, whatever it is, brings us humans together, be it triumph or tragedy. The uber-author strives to put that in words, in paragraphs, in chapters--so much more difficult than the instant snapshots we can get now from our media. And in those paragraphs, somehow, there's a nugget of emotion that every reader will find universal.

Last night, after a rough day in which I made a tough decision for my Magic Girl, something happened that made me cry. Mind you, my Magic was not uber-perfect. She was the bitchiest dog and a mutant pom at 25 lbs during her heyday. She was alpha to the max and lifted up her leg when she peed. She beat up on her poor husband, Brando, who turned 16 this Christmas. Even when she became blind from diabetes, she ruled her world and would still be able to bully him and take all his snacks away. Brando, bless his little heart, solved this problem by eating FAST and IMMEDIATELY.

Last night, I was putting away Magic's stuff--her insulin and meds, her blanket, her "throne pillow" (no steeenkin' toys for the Queen), everything--and came to her bed. I started crying because Brando had laid out ALL his snacks from yesterday in that bed. He hadn't eaten one, and this from the dog that ate everything in sight.

Ah, Magic girl, Uber-perfect she was not. She was too uber-big for her previous owner--a mutant POM three times the normal size. She also had a nasty habit of looking for my feet and barfing on them. She snored.

But she was also the most protective of me and her brood. During thunderstorms and July 4th fireworks, everyone hid behind her 25 lbs of fiercemamalurv. And she was utterly undefeatable. She would run to me at full speed in spite of her blindness, trusting me not to have done so if there was a pole in the way. It was scary to know she trusted me that much. The vet had warned me that a dog with malfunctioning kidneys would be peeing and pooping all over herself because of loss of control. My Magic, in her last moments, got on her feet and went to the bathroom in the lawn. She turned to me and gave a little bark, as if to say, "See, Mom? I can still do this. I'm uber-dog." And she trusted me to make the right decision.

Ah Magic. I hope I did, my girl. Uber-dog, yes, but the quality of your life would have been too painful to watch. You were an original. And unforgettable. All of us at home miss you so very much this morning.

Love,

Mom

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