I love dogs.
They are what they are. We have two of them. One, is coming up on fifteen and the other is just over two and a half.
Dogs are what they are. What you see is what you get. They have no hidden agendas or plot or plans. They make stuff up as they go.
I came home yesterday and the two met me at the door like I was their god. "Oh, master master master, we are so happy to see you. See our tails wag? See? we are so happy. Pet us and let us know you love us too, quick, come see what we did today while you were gone." So you go and see your magazine shredded in the back yard and there is no one to blame but yourself. Why did you leave the magazine out if not for them to play with?
I woke up this morning a little later than normal. It's Saturday, after all and I wanted to sleep in. Betty, the young one, woke me with her face pressed up against mine. Her tail beating against something like a drum, only we don't own a drum. I couldn't roll over because Mindy, the fourteen year old, was laying on my feet. Yeah, I know what your saying. "Hey, what are you doing letting your dog sleep on your bed?" You're right, I shouldn't. But I did. And there is something comforting about an animal, particularly a dog, laying close to you. Mindy wants to lay between Joni and I because she feels safer there in her old age, and that, in turn, makes us feel good.
I guess as I get older I see my life between these two. The youth that I still cultivate in my mind that I think I still have, and the reality that as each day goes by, I seek the comfort that life has and of those around me. I want to be able to walk through the desert and look at life and smell the beauty that the world provides all the while thinking I can still leap walls and run like a galloping buffalo, knowing full well my galloping days are just about over.
I want Mindy's brains and Betty's young heart. I want the slow processing of the old girl and the willingness to jump into anything anytime of the youth. Somewhere, there is a happy medium.
Yep, I love my dogs.
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