My baby Jacque Cousteau…my buddy, my furry friend till the end.   I remember when my mom and dad first brought him home.   I was walking home from school with my best friend, skipping along and being silly girls.   We were chatting about school events and my mom possibly getting Joseph and me a dog of our own.   Little did I know what was waiting for me beyond my “puppy love” dreams?   My mom said, “Brandy, close your eyes.”   She led me to the little green cage.   I opened my brown with a pinch of hazel eyes.   There he was, in salt and pepper glory.   His Frenchman-like beard caught my attention.   His round dark eyes reeled me in like a fisherman sitting on the dock of the bay.   My heart rolled like the tide.   There was my loving Frenchman that was brought to me from puppy Paris.   “Thank you mom and dad!”   Thank you, for the next thirteen years… Oh, the first “terrible two” months.   Such a cute bearded puppy, but stubborn as an ox!   House-breaking Jacque was a mon

  I remember my days of old. I was a young frilly dress girl running up the steps to enter “Kingdom come, My will be done.”   Oh! Yes! There was our welcoming friend, the back pew.   Hello! Rest sludgy feet.   Slip off miry shoes and put on Christ-like “free at last” sandals.   We’d sit down and get prepared for divine veils to cover golden chandeliers and elder chairs.   Come, Holy Spirit. Guide vast choir and pastoral teaching.   I’d wiggle a little here and there.   I’d pat and fix my pleated dress.   My bow was as big as the podium with the resting bible.   It was sleeping, ready to be awaken by shepherd hands.   Bibles in the back of the pews were also ready to “rise and shine” along with hymnals.   Music notes were ready to float over “bench boats”.   Singing voices were ready to burst! Ping! Chime! against the stained glass windows.   The flock was corralled and ready to drink from the everlasting trough.      “Amazing Grace”, “How Great Thou Art”, and “Old Rugged Cro