Shelby was the most beautiful puppy I had ever seen. The instant I saw her I knew she was going home with me. Shelby agreed. She had been playing with her littermates. When I walked into the room, she stopped and came to stand next to me. It was the spot she would occupy for the rest of her life.

True to her breed she and I were inseparable. She loved to play in the snow. Her first winter and the first snowfall play like a favorite movie in my mind. It was time for her trip “outside” and the snow had accumulated to several inches. Excited, ready to go, she bounded across the threshold when I opened the door. She had careened several feet into the yard before she skidded to a stop, turned and looked at me. “What the hell is this?” she asked.

I laughed as she picked up one paw and tried to shake off the wet stuff. Then repeated the process with the other paws.

“We’ll be here all night if you keep that up,” I told her as I scooped up a handful of snow and tossed it at her. She snapped her teeth at the flakes as the mini snowball disintegrated in the wind.

I walked out into the yard and called to her. Shelby hesitated, but when I called her again, she leapt over the snow to land in the hollows left by my footsteps. Soon my pint-sized puppy was running in circles, bounding through the great drifts, snapping at floating flakes as we destroyed the pristine white blanket mother nature created for our amusement. For the rest of her life, Shelby looked forward to winter and snow. She never tired of leaping over and through piles of it.

Shelby kept a watchful eye on everything. When I left the house, she slept next to the door until I returned. At night, she slept right where my feet would land if I should get out of bed. During the day, she followed more closely than my shadow. When we went for a walk, Shelby never needed a leash, she always stayed by my side.

She was my protector, my rock, stalwart, steadfast and true. One constant in an ever-changing life. One day, Shelby looked at me with big brown eyes. Her eyes told me today was the day we said goodbye. I cried. There will never be another companion like Shelby. Others need not apply.

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

We all know them. The immortals who get knocked down but refuse to quit. No matter how far down they are, no matter the odds, they fight back and often succeed. We call them resilient. What is it that makes them different from the rest of us mere mortals? If you ask them, they will look at you as if you’re crazy. To them its life. Resiliency is part of who they are. I admire those who make lemonade in grand style, brush off dust and consider it a part of a normal day.

Resiliency is a matter of mental toughness. They have confidence in themselves. They will take on a task although the odds are against them. The quote attributed to Winston Churchill, “If you are going through hell, keep going,” is their motto.

The Great One, Wayne Gretzky said, “You miss 100% of the shots you don’t take.” Resilient people take the shot every time. They adopt the dandelion trait. Have you noticed no matter how hard you work you can never get rid of all the dandelions in your yard? Dandelions are not afraid to fail. Sure, you might kill a few of them, (a dandelion fail) but they will just try again. You can’t keep a dandelion down.

Consider another sports analogy. Barry Bonds leads the all-time home run record with 762 home runs. He also had 1,539 strike outs. Hank Aaron comes in second place with 755 home runs and 1,383 strike outs. If you take away all of Hank Aaron’s home runs, he still logs 3,000 career hits. Those are great numbers. Gretzky, Bonds, Aaron, these guys were not afraid to let a few failures interfere with their success. The numbers suggest the more you fail the more likely you are to succeed.

Resilient people know how to eat elephants. It’s easy, one bite at a time. They break a huge goal into manageable, bite-sized pieces. They dissect the task, pulling it into segments and focus on one step at a time. If you consider the whole elephant, the goal appears impossible. But resilient people believe everything is possible. Barry Bonds wasn’t worried about the home run record. He was concentrating on the pitch and visualizing a home run.

Visualization is another trait. They can see themselves succeeding in graphic, vivid detail. The elephant will be eaten and they will throw a party. They know what they will serve (not elephant) and who will high-five them. In fact, they will celebrate any small victory. Have you ever seen a baseball player booed because he only got a hit? Resiliency means you find one or two good things and pat yourself on the back.

The final thing about resilient people? They have fan clubs. They surround themselves with others who celebrate, offer advice, and make them feel like they matter. We are social creatures and earning the approval of others is a big motivator.

Are you ready to fail your way to success? Come on, I’m rooting for you.

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Note: Another short one. This story is 125 words.

Pistons pumping, concentration set everything rests upon this race. Staged at the starting line, poised for the signal, seconds seem like hours. Amber. Amber. Amber. Green. Churning and burning leaping across the line, gasoline evaporates in record time. Dashed lines appear solid and the world becomes a blur. Pouring on the power easing into the turn, tires slide on this wild ride. No room for error no turning back only bumping and jumping and flying round the track. Miniscule adjustments never sacrificing speed articulating precise maneuvers testament to driving prowess. The finish line in sight the lap almost complete full focus fixed upon the goal. Flashing past the finish checkered flags go down. The only word that matters is the only one you hear: Qualified.

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

“I have not failed. I’ve just found 10,000 ways that won’t work.”

— Thomas A. Edison

When we think of persistence, we often think of Thomas Edison and his light bulb. We admire it. We try to emulate it. How does it feel to fail day after day year after year? How do you continue and maintain hope? Thomas Edison started work on his illuminating idea in 1878 and on January 27, 1880 he got his patent for the electric lamp. It is impressive that those 10,000 attempts resulted in a patent in two years.

Could you persist for twenty-five years to reach your goal? Maxcy D. Filer did. He sat for the California State Bar exam 48 times before he earned the right to add “Esquire” to his name. Tenacious, persistent, unrelenting in his pursuit, sixty-year-old Maxcy persevered.

How about sticking it out with a group of losers? Could you show up to support them in their efforts, pay for tickets while they lost year after year? Chicago Cubs fans did. They stuck with the team on a 108-year losing streak, the longest such streak in any major North American sport. Through thick and thin, and dismal times, fans attended games and cheered the team saying, “there’s always next year”.

The last story of perseverance had its start back in the early 1900s. For thousands of years the American Chestnut tree grew in the eastern United States covering an area from Main to Northern Florida and west to Pennsylvania, Ohio, Tennessee and Georgia. They said a squirrel could climb a Chestnut tree in Main and travel through the canopy to Georgia without touching the ground. The trees were monsters, growing ten to fourteen feet in diameter and over 100 feet tall, they dominated the Eastern forests.

Chestnuts were the cornerstone of the ecosystem. The nut of the tree was a high-energy food source for both wildlife and humans, high in starch and sugar and low in fat. The wood was rot resistant, lightweight, easy to split and did not wrap or shrink. Those factors made in an excellent choice for buildings, barns, furniture, fences, telegraph poles and railroad ties. High in tannins the bark and was used to tan leather.

In 1904, chief forester at the New York Zoological Garden (the “Bronx Zoo”) Hermann Merkel discovered the Chestnut blight fungus. The American tree had no resistance to the blight. The fungus was catastrophic. By 1940 the Chestnut blight had spread over 200 million acres and killed four billion trees. The American Chestnut tree was functionally extinct. Efforts began in 1930 to conserve American Chestnut root stock and develop a hybrid resistant to the blight while preserving the qualities of the original tree.

Work continues today. The hope is to eventually re-introduce the American Chestnut into the wild. Several organizations including the American Chestnut Foundation are working on backcross breeding, traditional breeding and biotechnical methods to save this tree.

I hope their persistence pays off and future generations of Americans will once again know this great tree.

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

The Noble Lady

“This is how you see me?” Lisa asked peeking over the artist shoulder.

“This is how the world will see you,” he replied.

“I don’t understand.”

“You are a virtuous woman, noble and wealthy.”

“Noble?” she flipped her skirts as she turned to gaze out of the window.

“Yes, noble.”

“I am no more noble than the woman in the street selling cakes.”

“You are more noble than any queen or duchess I have ever met. The world will come to see you as I do.”

“And how many queens have you met? The world will not see me. They do not see me now. I am a daughter, a mother, a wife. Nothing more. The portrait you paint is for my husband, not the world.”

“Noble is not a title my lady. It is something that shines from your soul.”

Lisa looked at him and smirked. She shook her head and returned to her pose for the portrait.

“Do that again,” he commanded.

“Do what?”

“The look you gave me.”

She complied and he worked quickly, his brush dipping into the paints and touching the canvas. When he was finished, he dropped his brushes, covered the canvas and began packing his supplies.

“You are done?” she asked.

“Not yet, but done for today.”

“May I see?”

“You have seen enough.”

“Is it any good?”

“I think we shall leave that for the world to decide.”

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer