Every time I turn around, another day of note sneaks up on me. National Chocolate Covered Raisins Day, National Fun Day (that one’s April 1st. Someone has a sense of humor.), National Walk to Work Day, Winston Churchill Day, Doughnut Day (a strong food theme seems to stand out.).
Today the powers that be snuck Puppy Day in on me, and the banks weren’t even closed or anything! Surely this year is the first for it, and next year will see a more appropriate response–you know, parades, abbreviated hours for businesses, special music, that sort of thing. Surely everyone knows that a puppy and its unconditional love and devotion deserve such a celebration.
My two are my constant companions, my cheerleaders, my tear wipers. They are never far from my side as I sit into the wee hours writing or painting or reading, or possibly, on the rare occasion🙄, even wasting precious time in one way or another. They love me even when I cannot find love for myself. They like me when I am no one to like. These two have traveled the country from one side to the other with me, content just to be brought along. They protect me from bad people, from laziness, from sadness and heart ache, and from loneliness.
When, in the span of fifteen months, I lost my father, then my mother, then my older dog Abbie, Luna refused to let me curl up into a ball and wither away. When I opened my eyes each day, or if she thought I had kept them closed against the sadness of the world too long, she would begin her work of pulling me out of my heartache. She would start her efforts gently by standing next to the bed and “talking” quietly to me in a low Wookie voice, staring at me as if willing the words from her brain to mine. Then, she would hop onto the bed and pat me with her paw. “Hey, I mean serious business. Time to get up. Time to workout. They are gone, but we are not.” Most days, I would pet her, gaze into her eyes, and roll over–at which point her efforts would begin in earnest with outright barking and pleading. Eventually, on the days when even the pleading didn’t work, she would resort to pulling the covers off of me and challenging me to defy her. I often wonder just how many days on end I would have spent in that bed, my heart so broken that I couldn’t even cry, had she not been there to pull me out of it.
Charlie came to us later and with just as much love and more patience. His cure for sorrow is snuggling–a more passive, gentle approach. Come to think of it, his cure for everything is snuggling, and I’m perfectly okay with that.
Every dog who has ever honored me with its companionship has given me more than I have given it. So Happy Puppy Day. May we do everything we can to deserve such creatures in our lives, though certainly we will always fall short.