"I think I INHALED a firefly!"

As twilight began to slip away the other night, Olive and I meandered outside and stepped into the most amazing display of firefly “performance art.” There before us, in our front yard and across the street throughout the almost-knee-high cornfield, thousands of miniature yellow lights twinkled on and off, blinking at us as though they were performing a visual symphony. I felt like I was in a scene from “A River Runs Through it,” “Legends of the Fall,” or “The Color Purple.” It was such a powerful association that I could almost hear Robert Redford narrating the story. “AND IN THE TWILIGHT OF OUR YOUTH WHEN WE MUST PUT AWAY CHILDISH THINGS…” The scene was breathtaking. We stood there for a few minutes like a pair of blue Cornflowers, taking it all in, until Olive decided she wanted to take it all in LITERALLY. She starts leaping into the air like a spring-loaded jackrabbit, becoming momentarily bi-pedal, biting at the fireflies, chasing them across the lawn. Leap. Bite. Leap. Bite. Leap. Bite. Leap. Bite. Leap. Bite. It had a funny Chaplinesque quality to it, one that caused me to start laughing out loud. LOUDLY. And then Olive abruptly stops and snorts with the gusto of a bagpipe player:  “HAYUMPHHHH!” “WHAT’S THE MATTER OLIVE? DID A FIREFLY GO UP YOUR NOSE?” She looks at me for a few seconds and then goes back to leaping and biting. I stand there wondering how I got so lucky to get such a great dog. And again, it’s another one of those moments when I say to myself. “God, I can’t believe she’s really mine.”