On the edge of my tub, sit small tubes of hotel lotion and shower gel, items I usually buy in bulk at the lowest price possible. Flipping open a tube, the lotion’s aroma sends me back to the desert, a place I’d never been to before this past July.
I probably never would have made it to the desert if it weren’t for Sophie, a 14 year ago Pomeranian/Chihuahua mix who died last week.
Sophie’s mom, Gayle, was my first client. Within hours of my posting my profile on Rover, she reached out to me about taking care of Sophie over Thanksgiving break. That was almost two years ago.
Sophie made me sing for my supper as a first time sitter, offering no assistance as I tried to get her harness and coat on. Her affection was always more feline than canine, preferring to observe rather than play, wanting to be beside me under the coffee table rather than on top of me on the couch.
This spring I started planning my next trip. I needed to go somewhere I’d never been to before, not just a new location but a new habitat. Having lived there for many years Gayle recommended Palm Springs for its calm atmosphere and majestic landscape. Her endorsement cinched it for me and I booked my ticket for the off-season.
On Gayle’s recommendation, I went to The Nest, a bar in Indian Wells. The waitresses who easily could be the granddaughters of Dean Martin or Don Rickles called you “hon” or “sweetheart.” At the bar, there was lots of tan skin and blonde hair. Many of these ladies and gentlemen could touch the time when the pillars of the Palm Springs community, Dinah Shore, Bob Hope and of course Sinatra came there.
The Nest will always be the place where I started dancing again.
“Thank God, I came here.” How many times in your life can you say that about a place?
Thank you, dear Sophie, for connecting with me, for connecting me with Gayle, and for delivering me to the desert.
I will miss you so much.
Rest gently, dear girl.
petwork/gigwork/lifework 