March of 1984. Late nights with the new puppy. She'd run and run until she collapsed. Then she slept like a rock. On me. She looks rather squishy in this picture. And I look bleary from lack of sleep.
Summer of '85. We go travelling. She guards me now. Here we are under the willows at my parents' house.
Spring of '84. "Criminally cute." She was a holy terror, chewing everything in sight. It took her awhile to become civilized.
"Beauty Queen"
She was so beautiful, people would literally stop us on the street (or in the park, or come to our door) and ask if we would ever consider selling her. This was flattering, but also alarming, and made me a bit paranoid that someone would try to steal her. She was sometimes mistaken for an Akita, and people would ask us if they could breed their dogs with her. Cinnabar wasn't interested. She was spayed and didn't much care for male dogs.
Or any dogs, actually. Possibly as a product of being taken from her mother at such a young age, she didn't really believe she was a dog. (Her mother's people may have lied to us about her age, and either way, they had someone else coming to see her later in the day. She came when I called her, dove into my lap, and we bonded immediately. There was no way we were going to let someone else take her.)
This last series of photos was taken when we lived at Centre St. in J.P. -- ImbolcTide of 1990, shortly after her sixth birthday. I love this picture of her because you can really see the intelligence in her eyes. Or you can in the original...(click on picture to zoom in). They're not the best pictures of me; but this is her picture page, not mine. I've cut off almost all my hair in mourning. The waist-length locks were burned on her funeral pyre.
You can tell that she's talking when you look at this picture. She had an opinion on everything, whether you asked or not.
Cinnabar helps me drum.
