This morning I did something I’ve been needing to do for over a week now, I spent a solid two hours with my dog. Spending time with Rafe (who is four months old now) consists of cleaning up after him, scolding him for gnawing on my hands and arms, coaxing him to walk on a leash, protecting my coffee and face from slobbery kisses, and wrestling with him in the grass over a toy. I woke up to one of those rare mornings in the Pacific Northwest where the early morning sunshine is coming through the window in delicious golden beams, just beckoning me to get outdoors.
Spending time with my dog reminds me to slow down the pace of life sometimes, even on a weekday morning, and put my life and things that generate stress for me into perspective. It used to amaze me that much of a dog’s life is spent anticipating the return of its master, but as I steal peeks at Rafe when he doesn’t see me watching I actually noticed that he isn’t waiting for me – he’s doing dog things all by himself like sniffing, playing, and peeing. Ah, the life of a dog.