TALKING TATTOO

photo curtesy of Pixabay

I LOVE tattoos. I am curious about every one that I see. What was the inspiration for it? Who did it? Who designed it? Is it your first?

I got my first tattoo when I was 35 years old.  I was on a beach trip, had always wanted one, and finally got the nerve to do it. I walked straight in, looked at the thousands of pictures on the four walls and picked the 'perfect' one, a simple dolphin jumping out of the water. Original, right? At the time I had no idea how much I would come to regret that tattoo.

Looking back, I realize how that simple, silly, generic tattoo really doesn't mean anything to me. There is no real part of ME in the artwork. It is a simple, one color, line drawing of something anyone could have drawn up.

Don't get me wrong, I am not throwing off on anyone else's choice of body art, it is just to me, this one is not art at all. When I got my second tattoo, there was much more thought and planning that went into it, and it represents a very pivotal, spiritual, life changing moment in my life.

I was in love, really in love. I found the one I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. Things were going no where really, and I was extremely jealous of another female friend in his life. For weeks I contemplated ending the relationship. It was going to go nowhere and I had been there and done that before. I wanted stability, permanence, love, companionship and someone that was all mine.

During this time, I had a strange encounter with a praying mantis. Every evening when I came home to my third floor apartment, there was this enormous, green, creepy looking bug on my front door. It was in my face, at eye level, and there was no getting past it, without getting rid of it. So a broom swept it off the door, over the railing to the ground below.  The next night, the same scenario, and then a third. Was he/she a glutton for punishment? Did they enjoy being swept into the breezeway? What brought this icky bug back night after night?

A friend of mine had told me about the Native American belief that God speaks to us through animals. Now, I believe wholeheartedly in God, and believe he speaks to us in many different ways if we will just listen for his voice.  So I Googled the symbolic meaning of the praying mantis. The mantis has the following traits: Patience, Stability, Meditation, Peaceful, Quietness. The ability to be still is most important to the mantis.

Was God telling me, BE STILL? I know he was (and does often even now). "Be still and wait, I have things in control, I am God, I know what I am doing".  

So that is what I did. I waited.

Today I am happily married to Randy, the same man whom I nearly ended my relationship with, the love of my life. Had I listened to my emotions and acted on them, we would not be together now.  My life would be totally different.

My second tattoo is a reminder to always BE STILL when life is crazy, when I feel like doing something rash, or when I need to know what is right. I have a praying mantis on my right thigh. I try to remember the following verse from Exodus 14:14

The LORD will fight for you; you need only to be still Ex 14:14

Do you have a special story behind one of your tattoos?

 

I would love for you to share it with me.

 

Please email me a note with a photo of your tattoo!  stauffersheri@gmail.com

Conan

Hiding from the vacuum cleaner



Conan at 3 months old


“But ask the animals what they think—let them teach you;
    let the birds tell you what’s going on.
Put your ear to the earth—learn the basics.
    Listen—the fish in the ocean will tell you their stories.
Isn’t it clear that they all know and agree
    that God is sovereign, that he holds all things in his hand—
Every living soul, yes,
    every breathing creature?"  Job 12:7-10

Looking back on 2017, there are many exciting, happy, and memorable moments to reflect on.  I have to say the hardest was saying good by to our Chocolate Lab, Conan.

My love of labs goes way back, before I could even walk. My grandparents had a black lab named Nick. I am told that he was a gentle dog.  He would let me wallow around on him, pull his tail and in my own way, love on him without complaint on his part of any kind.

Me at 9 months with Nick

If I believed in reincarnation, I would have to say Nick came back into my life as Conan. Even as a puppy, Conan had the soul of an old man.  Those hazel green eyes of his would look so intently into mine with an unspoken understanding of the love we had for each other. When we picked him up at the breeder’s, it was love at first sight.

I have so many stories of the things he got into as a puppy, the couch he destroyed, numerous pairs of shoes, and doors that still have his teeth marks in them to this day. Two of my favorite memories of him are of how smart he was and the funniest thing he did.

We had a springer spaniel named Booger we got the same weekend we got Conan, so they were ‘brothers’. Booger tried so hard to be the Alpha male in the house. Every time the two of them would come in from outside, Booger had to be first. He would immediately turn around and jump on Conan (twice his size) and attack him, pulling on his ears, lips and anything else he could get ahold of. I know this irritated Conan to no end, but he was never mean to Booger, he would just put his head down and keep walking. One particular time, Booger ran through the open door, in his usual manner he spun around and waited for his big brother to walk in and be his ‘punching bag’ of sorts. This time however, Conan had a plan. On his way to the door, he picked up a rawhide that had been previously left outside. As he came toward the door, he never stopped walking, he just lowered his head and dropped the rawhide at the same instant that Booger pounced. When Booger heard the chew toy hit the ground, his ADHD kicked into full swing and just like that, he was all over the rawhide and Conan walked peacefully and calmly into the house. It was a win-win for both of them, but genius on Conan’s part.

The funniest mischief Conan ever got into was funny but expensive. I had been paid $80.00 cash, all twenty dollar bills for some items I sold. It was late, and we were in a hurry to go grab a bite of dinner. I left the money laying on the coffee table and we scurried out the door. Conan was much older now, and had long since past his chewing on everything stage. Food was free game if it were left out, but other items were safe by this point in his life, or so I thought.  When we returned home, about 30 minutes later, there were only two twenty dollar bills, and they both had seen better days. I knew right away where the other $40.00 was. Let’s just say, the a dog’s digestive system does wonders at removing ink from legal tender.

Conan was my best friend, my cuddle bug, my sofa partner, my protector, and he held a part of my heart in his. That is why when he began to show signs of not feeling well, I knew in the depths of my soul that it was coming close to the end of our time together, here on earth anyway.  I took him to the vet a few days later, and she confirmed what I feared the most, it was most likely cancer.

Have you ever loved someone so much, that you had to make very difficult decisions because it was the right thing to do, rather than what you wanted to do? I loved him too much to see him suffer. As much as I wanted to keep him near to me, and in my arms, I knew that I had to let him go, in peace and be pain free.

As I sat on the floor next to him in the vet’s office, I stroked him, cried, and told him how much I loved him. I thanked him for being the best boy ever, and for loving me unconditionally and totally selflessly. My heart will forever have his paw print stamped in the very center. I was blessed to have been his human mom and for him to be my furbaby.