72/365 Poppies

Poppies make me think not of falling asleep in a field (i.e. The Wizard of Oz), but of our old dog.

I'm credited for naming her. We got her as a puppy, and, at 2 years old, I had trouble saying "puppy." Instead it came out "poppy." And the name stuck.

She was a mutt that we got from my grandmother, but she looked like a Golden mix. Poppy was the sweetest, gentlest dog when it came to people, animals, you name it. We got her fixed when she was young, so she never had puppies of her own, but she definitely had a maternal instinct.

Chase and I found a nest of baby rabbits one time and startled them into fleeing. One ran through the fence into the backyard where both of our dogs were. Poppy ran over, snatched it up, and walked off with it before our other dog, Sable got there.

Sable was the protector. She tangled with every animal that got in the yard, whether it be rabbit, groundhog, or raccoon. But Poppy was different.

We thought for sure this baby rabbit would be toast by the time we got to it. But when we reached Poppy and picked it up, it was completely unscathed. It's heart was beating a little fast, and it was covered in slobber but was none the worse for wear. It only survived because Poppy got to it first.

She passed away at 15, and losing her was the hardest thing I've ever been through. I grew up with her and had not known life without her.

So when I see our poppies blooming, I think of her.

Camera: Canon Rebel DSLR 1/125s, f/5.6 at ISO 100 in natural light at about 6:30 p.m.