Born in America

It's the week before the 4th of July.  And I think we'll spend this week celebrating "born in America."  Ok, yes, I do love The Boss's song, but also the girls who were born in America.

All three of my yellow labs were born in or near Washington, DC.  Murphy was born in a historic neighborhood.  One of my favorite Murphy as wee puppy stories was that several days after I first met her, she apparently hoisted herself out of the weaning pen and rattled around my friend Mary's basement. Mary thought it was a burglar.  But it was Murph, already showing her mischievous side.

Murphy's first 4th of July with me, we went to visit a friend up in Connecticut.  This friend has an elegant "second home" up there and I was invited to celebrate the holiday.  As I sat in my friend's kitchen, out of the door I could see this flash of yellow streaking one way then another, back and forth.  Murphy doing a mad dog on my friend's 200 acres, flinging into the stream, running amok in the corn fields...when we drove home through all the small towns and villages of southern Connecticut and Westchester County, New York, watching the firework shows, an exhausted Murphy had her head on my lap. It was a great beginning of many more 4th of Julys to come.

Murphy's Day.