It seems odd that I have worked so hard at having a beautiful home to live in, including residing in a beautiful town, which includes spending a king’s ransom on renovations for each home, as if I were a multi-millionaire, which I am not. And, in spite of spending the most on Blyss House, the house located on the first ridge of the Watchung Mountains, no sooner was it spent than it had to be sold. Today, I find myself here downsized at the foot of that same mountain. It is only a mile away but a million miles in terms of how I live. Gone is the glass adorned house that so generously gave me all the brightest of sunlight, so high above the ground that your vista was the tops of the trees. Gone is the splendid view of the mountains rolling into the western horizon, green undulations in spring and summer, colored in fall, black in winter, but always compelling. How often did I sit there in my living room and gave thanks to all I had: husband, house, borzoi. Why did it have to end? But end it did.
In downsizing, I did my best to keep things as close to just the same as I could. I found a very dog-friendly house with a fenced back yard. The house was for the three remaining borzoi first. I have no doubt they approved and were happy there. The only sadness was the death of Mikhailya too soon, the following June. I did not expect that.
The neighbors had grown fond of her, and acknowledged her passing with kind words, flowers and cards. I was so moved. I thought they did not like me, but then I knew I was wrong. Somehow, I had come home.