Blue Lab

Black Lab. Oil on gallery-wrapped canvas, 12x12. 
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Painting this black Lab made me think, of course, about my mother. The anniversary of her death is coming up, and I notice how uneven my behavior is, how uncertain I am about everything, and how difficult it is right now for me to focus.

Mom had Dalmatians while she was growing up, and we had Dalmatians while we were growing up. They were funny, eccentric, insane dogs, and I loved them. But enough is enough, and the Dalmatians were followed by black Labradors.

Jake, the first, was a strong, lazy, short-legged Lab. He adored my mother, and was content simply to be around her. He was a huge slob, and we christened the area around his water bowl "Lake Jake."

Ben, my mother's second Lab, was a long-legged, schitzophrenic, perpetually destructive dog. At one point, he pulled my mother down and broke her kneecap. He chewed more shoes and books than I can count, and his behavior engendered at least a dozen phone calls that focused around my mother's momentary hatred of her dog.

This, of course, always passed. She could buy more shoes, more books. And if she couldn't really replace whatever it was that Ben had chewed, well, it was, in the end, a thing, and as such, was less valuable than Ben himself.

Ah, Mom. How I miss you.