“You will find as you look back upon your life that the moments that stand out, the moments when you have really lived, are the moments when you have done things in a spirit of love.” – Henry Drummond, Scottish writer and lecturer.”
If you have been reading my very-occasional posts, you know that I am all about the love. But this post was My Mommy’s idea. In fact, she came across these wise words last December, held onto them, and referred to them often through the ups and downs that characterize our lives in any year. Yes, even mine. As you may know, I had surgery this summer and, with a plastic cone-shaped contraption on my head, I learned some new lessons about love. Guests understood my plight, helped me to get around when I had trouble navigating the nuances of my head gear, and seemed to understand that all living beings have their trials. Ah, the spirit of love. Guests also humored me with endless hours of petting, play time and even special treats. You didn’t have to, really. But I imagine that these memories live in your heart, too, as moments when you really lived because they came from a spirit of love. It’s true what “they” say: love given is love received.
As you embrace the merriment of this special season, do so with a bold love that makes a moment and shapes a memory. No credit card,tinsel, or bow required.
From our inn to your hearth, we wish you a Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays and a heart alight with a spirit of love.
I look rather dazed in this head gear, don’t I? After having surgery to remove a pesky growth on my eye, I awoke with this thing around my neck. True to form, my good-natured Daddy saw the humor in it. The Mommy, on the other hand, fretted, so we had both ends of that spectrum covered. In fact, The Mommy made several phone calls to the uber-patient veterinary staff: “Are you sure this is the right one for her? It’s so, well, big and clumsy. I don’t mean to second-guess you, but she doesn’t seem to be adjusting well; she looks so sad. Isn’t there something else we could try?” Because they had heard it all before, they simply reassured her that I would be fine. I can almost hear them saying “Just breathe….”
While The Mommy was practicing her breathing, I was learning to call forth my inner stoic as I knocked into walls and fumbled my way down the stairs. Then, a light bulb moment! With no peripheral vision and my snout having lost its free range, I soon realized that I qualified as Doggie with a Disability. Now, don’t get me wrong. It’s not that I was looking for special treatment, it’s just that my bumptious plastic cone never failed to elicit grave concern. The Humanoids I ran into (literally, that is) asked, “Oh no, what happened?” In response, I’d nuzzle up to them as best I could in that contraption, and they’d pet me for a looooooong time. How could I resist? There were other advantages, too. Getting to my roasted chicken(mmmm) and kibble grub presented a unique challenge. But no worries, as The Mommy was quick to settle in on the floor to hand-feed me my meals. A girl could get used to such indulgence. Now, it wasn’t all a walk in the park. For example, I never did figure out how to play with my babies or to engage in my signature SSR: sniff, scratch and roll. But here’s the thing: I adapted. I took the good with the bad. Just as you do. Once the obnoxious head gear was finally removed (14 days!) I went to the doggie day spa and chocked it all up to experience.
I’m told that Humanoids don’t write using words anymore, much less sentences. I thought I’d give it a shot and use an all-in-caps acronym to get your attention. Not sure how I feel about that because attention isn’t what I’m all about….which brings me to my most-frequently-ascribed-attribute, my MFAA. In a word, three syllables, it’s composure. No matter what I see or hear, I’m “good with it.” You know what I mean. I just cross my paws, lean decidedly in your direction, fix my inimitable canine stare on you and look deeply into your soul. No worries; I won’t tell. I’ve a confession or two of my own, to wit: My well-noted and duly ascribed composure has evolved. Well, perhaps it’s devolved into Composure. Ah, the difference an upper-case consonant makes! Taking things in stride was my strong suit. But lately, you might say that I am a tad more tightly-wound. But I’m convinced that as long as I stay faithful to my Downward Dog and my morning constitutional, a homeopathic dose of Composure can do a girl like me a world of good. Case in point: I like routine, predictability, and the consistently-timed doling out of meals and treats. There’s a reassuring rhythm to it: 6 a.m., breakfast. 10 a.m., snack. Noon: snack. 2 p.m. however, is a challenge. The Mommy is usually on a deadline of one ilk or another, so I have to get her attention and carry on in the hope that she’ll give in so that I will let her finish. These Humanoids. I don’t get it. Anyway, it’s 4 p.m. that I long for: dinner! Now, don’t get me wrong; a treat around here is a mere tease of a morsel. So when something willy-nilly interrupts the timing of the food chain, a girl can become a tad agitated. But, alas, “no worries,” to quote The Mommy. With my newfound Composure, I can muster up the composure of patience, or at least the illusion thereof. You see, I really do get it….
Too much of a good thing can get a girl in a wee bit of trouble. So first, a little context: I am “all about” self-awareness, and I don’t mean “in theory.” Okay, so, you’re looking for an example, right? Let’s start with the fact that lounging about is my biggest strength. I have so refined the many variations on the theme that I’ve elevated it to an art form. The Mommy has a veritable treasure trove of visual examples…caught in the enviable act, you might say. (Now there’s a weakness: digression. I know, I know). Well anyway, one sunny Sunday afternoon, sans our beloved guests, I decided to saunter onto the rolling expanse of hillside to bask in the primal beauty of the day. For me, cute and clueless, that constitutes a bold move. Surprised by an errant sniff, I scratched–very dog-like, I might add. Then, I rolled. No, really, I did, shamelessly. One watusi maneuver and I was in doggie heaven. Contorting in the clover, I lost myself. That’s where a tad more self awareness would have come in handy. A girl has to know when to call it quits, kaput! But, not me. I managed a bloody scratch just under my left eye. To see The Mommy at the mere sight of that trickle of crimson on my face was enough to reinforce the lesson: stick with your strengths. It’s back to lounging for me.
Need I say anything more? Well, okay….a brief update:
Thanks to Karen, I am now sporting my spring do. And yes, I look forward to my spring respite with you, on the front porch. After all, a girl has to be flexible: repose, respite, you get the idea.
I am sure you’ve noticed. The things you apologize for have a certain repetition factor, a “Here-I-go-again” quality about them. And so it is with me. I have been lax in putting paw to print, and know that you have heard all of this this before (it’s a little like therapy, no?). Indulge me; I’ll get to you in a moment. After all, you, my patient and forgiving reader, know my reasons: I am caught up in the moment, filled with good intentions, insufficient time and yes, an absence of follow through. Know thyself.
And speaking of insufficient time, I HAVE been busy. Eureka! I recently discovered that my humanoids are experimenting with the guest chocolate…you know, branching out and getting a little extravagant. And one day, due to a bit of a communication faux pas, a management mishap, lo and behold, there it was: the promised land (Promised Land???) within reach of my expectant snout. As discipline is not my strong suit (Do I hear an AMEN????), that bad-boy chocolate tasted so good going down, oh yeah! It was the 3 a.m. after effect that interrupted my reverie. The Mommy wasn’t thrilled about stepping in it. Ugh…she went on and on in that disapproving tone as my tail hung obligingly between my legs.
Ah, but she does forgive….as we must.
In your world, you call it “being human.” I think that bad and good and good and bad are blurred lines at best. They transcend species. You understand. Forgive. Move on. There’s more life to be lived.