The Life of My Dog

It’s not that I don’t like a little excitement now and then.  Mixing it up keeps me alert and gives me job security as the protector of the home.  I know I’m making a difference when I do my rounds and find something I can bark at.  When I find a little activity out of the ordinary by some neighbor and can let you know about it, I feel alive.

To bark, eat, crap, pee, sleep, and walk around in circles, well, this is my destiny.  Don’t get me wrong; I do enjoy racing through the backyard at breakneck speeds retrieving that tennis ball you chuck into my elimination zone in the “back 40.”  Having you scratch my hips is da bomb next to licking my own paws (etc.) and your rubbing behind my ears or belly.  I just melt into your hands when you hold my beak and tell me that I am a “good dog.”  It’s easy to turn on my big brown puppy dog eyes at times like these.  It’s clear that if I do, the scratches will last longer and I do know how to work it too, you know.  I am a smart dog.

But what’s up with the hotel room?  Life was great with the lady alpha home because she spent so much time talking sweet nothings to me.  I don’t know why she suddenly was home so much after March of last year but I liked it.  Then that long red-haired gal came in and out of the kitchen and said a sweet “hey” to me inbetween naps.  My workouts with the tall guy were amazing as I leaped into the air rescuing that wretched green fuzzy ball from space and wrestling around in every contortion I could never imagine.  Plenty of naps filled my day, table scraps highlighted the menu, and I even got a little pudgy.  Life was good.

Now the square footage of my domain includes navy blue carpeting that shows off my shedding hair nicely and some kind of a big doggie bed on which two of the alpha’s take their own nap all night long.  I do like the two flights of stairs up to my new abode but not the soggy dog zone out back visited by who knows what kind of canine trash.   Where’s my pond?  Where’s my field?  Where’s my life as I knew it?

I guess this is the life of this dog for now.  At least that gal with the brown hair is more energetic and has started taking me out on walks in the parking lot of some concrete jungle behind this sea of giant dog houses.   And the tall guy ran me around a sand pit last night that was soft on my joints and a perfect spot to dump my stuff.  He is sooooo fun!

Better get back to work.  There’s someone dragging a case of something up the sidewalk and I must see if they intend to come too close to my reinforced territory.  Ah, to be needed.  Ah, to be loved.  Woof.  Woof.

Two Bowls, Two Knives, and a Body Brush

Sometimes it’s the little things that mean a lot.

Take my 20 ounce serving bowls from Jepson Pottery, for example.  I am happy when I can make a big salad or side dish and serve it in these substantial, artsy fired vessels.  The deep blue glaze compliments most food hues and the pottery keeps the dish a little warmer or cooler until the feasting is over.  A simple pleasure.  Sweet.

Having a sharp knife in the kitchen can make the difference between injury and expertly prepared veggies, especially when those rooted puppies are parsnips!  These are tough to cut yet soften nicely when browned in avocado oil and cooked down to almost mush with lots of salt.  A simple pleasure on a special diet.  Savory too.

And nothing wakes me up better than a gentle rub down with a stiff body brush in the shower.  Many people with chronic illness write about dry brushing and all types of lymphatic and therapeutic massage using this or that technique or device.  Just give me my natural bristle, wooden brush, will ya please?  No coffee needed to get me going for the day.  A good natural bristled brush on a long wooden handle is a simple tool to wake up the largest organ in the body.  Nice.

When estranged from my home due to mold restoration work, I find that the little things mean a lot.  The hotel room is unfamiliar, cold, and dark on these wintry days.  So I had to decide what items I should bring to my “home away from home” when the whole darn house wouldn’t fit into the 600 square feet where I must lie my head at night.  Little by little, I’ve narrowed it down to the items that make me smile in addition to my hubby, Bible, devotional book Jesus Calling, treatment journal, and stash of plantain chips.  Yes, I think that’s it:  2 bowls, 2 knives, and a back brush.

Wonder if I could sneak in a German Shepherd too?  :J