If you don’t have a dog to love, a noble head presenting itself to be stroked, and loyal, loving eyes waiting to meet your own, I feel sorry for you.
Josh sharing some love.
There is something magical – almost sacred – in loving my dogs. The gentle nudge of a soft muzzle, inviting me to leave my frantic world of work for a moment and get lost in running my hands through a soft coat is a gift every bit as valuable as an hour of therapy.
The click-click-clicking of puppy toes across cool tile flooring; followed by a “phoof!” of expelled air as a belly is presented to be rubbed never fails to bring a smile to my face.
Dulce waiting for her morning belly rub before getting out of bed.
A few ticklish licks on my feet, followed by the happy tap-dancing of four paws while dancing in haphazard circles is assured of making me giggle; reminding me to play more, worry less.
Happy Emmy, famous for slobbery kisses and spontaneous tap dancing.
After spending a few minutes loving on my dogs, life feels less scary and more manageable. I can breathe again and find at least a few moments when I’m reasonably confident my existence isn’t some big cosmic gaffe that leaves even the angels scratching their heads and shrugging their shoulders in hopeless defeat. This is the gift my dogs give me, whenever I’m not too busy being frantic.
As for me? Well… I make sure they’re fed and keep their water bowl filled. I plan my work meetings around their potty breaks. I dole out the occasional treat, rub bellies, and scratch heads. Lots of people think my dogs have it good. I’d say I’ve definitely got the better end of the deal. After all, I come home to three adoring faces that think I’m the best thing to walk through the door each day. Doesn’t get much better than that.
Me and my Josh, doing the happy dance.
Bits & Pieces 