My Dad's Pots

My father has a sizable and very fine American Indian pottery collection that he collected during the eight years we lived in New Mexico from local artists.  He purchased many of these pots in person from the artists themselves, and this collection is his pride and joy.  Yesterday, one of the shelves in his office tore its way out of the wall and came crashing down, taking almost a third of his collection down with it, including two of his finest pieces, one of which was a gift from my mother for their twenty fifth anniversary, and very special to them both.  I found him yesterday picking up the shards, crying in a way I had never seen him cry over anything that wasn't a death in the family.

However, all of us, my father included, are grateful it fell when it did, because I rushed downstairs thinking Amy, our elderly Chow/Akita mix had fallen, and when I couldn't find her inside, I went outside, where I found out that she had fallen, down the stairs that lead up to the porch.  Mom forgot to tell me she was outside when she left, and in this weather, Amy could have gotten heat stroke very easily, and died.  Because of the falling shelf, I got out to her in time, was able to cool her down with a wet towel and plenty of water, was able to call the vet and my parents, and got her leg, injured in the fall, checked out and treated quickly.

Amy is my dad's baby.