In 1794, the poet Robert Burns said his love was like a red, red rose.
Dale agrees. Mr. H. and I are celebrating our anniversary this weekend, so I’ll start with a story that happened the evening before our 31st Anniversary, less than a month after Dale had come to live with us.
I was a little sad because Mr. H. had to go out of town on business the next day, but he surprised me with beautiful multicolor roses when he came home from work. Dale wanted those roses! Whatever counter they were on, Dale was there. As I cut the stems to put them in a vase, Dale was there. A petal fell to the floor, and Dale chewed that petal up. As I put the trimmings in the trash, Dale goosed me again, before trying to snack on a few rose leaves. Mr. H. said “Dale is a true romantic.” (I’ve since tried a few older petals when I’m about to throw them out, but Dale only likes them fresh!)
Last night, Mr. H. brought me red roses, early again, so it was a great surprise. And, like he has every time, Dale wanted those roses! His nose knows a good thing, most of the time anyway.
Happy Anniversary Mr. H.! “Till all the seas go dry…”
A Red, Red Rose
O my Luve is like a red, red rose
That’s newly sprung in June;
O my Luve is like the melodie
That’s sweetly play’d in tune.
So fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in luve am I;
And I will luve the still, my dear,
Till a’ the seas gang dry.
Till a’ the seas gang dry, my dear
And the rocks melt wi’ the sun;
I will love thee still, my dear,
While the sands o’ life shall run.
And fare the weel, my only Luve!
And fare the weel awhile!
And I will come again, my Luve,
Though it were ten thousand mile.
By Robert Burns
