Playing to Be You.

It was grey and cold for a Saturday in May. The temperature had not yet hit 50 and she was bundled up in a sweatshirt, light jacket and her winter gloves. Finnegan loved the cooler air and was trotting briskly along, nose tilted up to catch all the best sniffs. As they wandered over to his favorite stand of juniper trees, two young women jogged past, huffing and red-cheeked. One of them laughed, "I am so fat! I can feel my hips bouncing!" The other woman gasped, "I am soooo jonesing for a cheeseburger! Can we go get lunch after this torture?" "Oh, hell yes! I think we are due a reward for all this agony!" Came the breathless reply.

They jogged out of hearing. 

Finnegan, finished up his business, kicked the grass behind him and muttered, "Why do you humans always do that?"
"Do what? Jog?"

"No. Tell yourselves, 'I'm fat' or 'I'm stupid' or....well, all of those negative messages."

"Well. I suppose because we think it's true."

Finn tugged hard on the leash, pulling her off the curb and back onto the road.

"Is it? Do you think you're a fat person?"

She took a deep breath. It suddenly struck her that she was about to say yes. She would gain a few pounds and feel horribly uncomfortable. Then lose them. But in hindsight, four pounds here and there were nothing compared to the extra pounds those women were struggling to lose. And yet, she didn't look at them and think they were 'fat'. They were just women. So why would she consider herself fat?

"Your rules are so strange," Finnegan woofed at her. "Human women always talk about how 'fat' they are, even when they look like they could actually use a good sandwich."

"You're right. It's ingrained in our society. We learn to buy into the message."
"Regardless of whether you really are fat?"

"Yeah. I guess so."

"Do you think you're stupid?"

"No. Other people do."

They both chuckled. But then he got quiet again, sniffing some long, tumbled grass and a dead blackberry bush.

"Dogs don't think like that."

"Ok. So how do dogs think?"

"We don't. We live. We eat. We sleep. We play. We have sex. And we never, ever, ever care about the size of our hips. Or yours. Because we're just happy to be alive. I mean, we looooove to eat, but we love all those other activities just as much. Dogs don't waste time doing icky stuff. If those women enjoyed jogging, they wouldn't be thinking about their hips or cheeseburgers. They would simply be feeling good."

"Are you a philosopher today?" She teased.

"No. I think they could have made a happier choice than..."

"Jogging?"

"Yes. I bet if they were line dancing they would be playing like puppies! It's Dog-Think. Do what makes you feel happy and you'll keep coming back for more. Play whenever you can."
"It's not that simple, Finnegan."

He stared up at her in a way that made her feel foolish. Uh oh. Here came the corgi smack-down.

"Everything is simple, Human Woman. Every choice you make is simple when you choose what makes you happy. Being You starts between your ears. C'mon, lets run after those women! I feel like making them smile!"

He darted forward, pulling her feet into motion, and pretty soon they were running zig zags downhill, his tongue lolling, his little legs eating up the earth. They were moving so fast she felt like she was flying along behind him, so she stuck her arms out and pretended to be an airplane, "Zoooooom!" She laughed out loud. He barked. The day suddenly got much, much brighter.

Weird But True.

They were enjoying their nightly jaunt. As they passed a row of porches, a door opened and a woman popped out. She reached her hands down to Finnegan and he wiggled happily over to her, submitting eagerly to her scratches and kisses and baby talk.
And then she stopped and the two of them locked gazes and she murmured, "Uh huh, hmmm, oh,". Then she gave his long back a final calming stroke, straightened and looked at Finn's Human.
"He has so very much to teach you about the world. But you don't know it yet. You will, though. You will."
"I try to listen."
"Try harder."
Finnegan looked up, grinning.
"Yes, Human Woman. Try harder," he teased.
"And he would like some more of those peanut butter cookies you make," the other woman continued. "What shape do you make them in?"
"Uh...round. I use a drinking glass. I don't have a cookie cutter."
The woman looked back down at Finnegan and once again, something unusual passed between them.
"Round is good," she announced. "Nice to see you again."
And she stepped back inside of her apartment. Gone. Just like that. 
Finnegan pulled on his leash.
"Home, Human Woman. Home to my round cookies!"
Weird, she thought, following behind, that was weird. And entirely true.

Woof You. Found You.

"Finnegan, I met the poet Daniel Ladinsky."
"Did he speak to you in rhyming couplets?"
"No. But he told me to learn my birthday poem."
Finnegan sat, stubby hind legs sticking straight out as Corgi legs do in a sit. He regarded her with all seriousness. She waited, almost knowing what he was about to ask. And he did.
"What the hell is a birthday poem and do I have one?"
"It is a poem published under the calendar day of one's birth. He published a book with a poem for each day. And yes, you do have one."
"Good. I hate being ignored. Why did he tell you to learn yours?"
"Because it has a message in it that I would find useful."
Finnegan stared. Humans were so silly, putting pencils to scraps of paper and writing words down. They should just know that they were like dogs, and dogs were born with poetry already filling them up to their noses. Beauty and truth residing in every scratch, every sniff, every gallumping run of joy across the beach. Each dog a written celebration of life. Why didn't humans know the same was true for them? For all living creatures? Curious.
"What's the line in my birthday poem that best describes me?" he asked.
She smiled and opened the book, smoothing the page. She read a moment, for it was a long poem, but then she laughed and shook her head in disbelief.
"Perfect," she murmured.
"So read me perfect."

"Love creates a home wherever it is. Love is really never in want. True love is always in a state of found."

Finnegan smiled his Corgi smile. That was him exactly. True love found. He stood and wiggled his round bottom. He trotted forward and pushed his handsome head between her shins, huffing a sigh of contentment.
"Woof you," his voice was muffled against her jeans. But she heard him. Oh, how she heard him.
She reached down, scratched his white ruff and felt the world steady beneath her feet. How had she gotten so lucky to have this little guy come into her heart?
"Because you knew me as soon as you saw me. You knew I was your home," he woofed, looking up at her with happy eyes.
"Woof you too," she whispered, "woof you big time, baby."

Feeling Wiggly.

"Wanting to be other than where you are - who cursed you like that? Break that spell." - quote from A Year With Hafiz.

"Human woman, what are you thinking about?"
"Well, something unexpected happened today."
"What?"
"A new friend told me that she hated her cushy job and envied me the career path I have chosen."
"Wouldn't most humans secretly love to be envied?"
She smiled down at her pup. His honesty made for the best possible conversations.
"Yes. I think there would be some people who would like to be envied. It would make them feel justified and, frankly, a little important."
"But you didn't have that reaction?"
"No. I thought I should...but instead I just wanted to give her a hug and tell her that I would help her escape those golden handcuffs and go after her dream life."
Finnegan sat at her feet. "But you didn't tell her that, did you?"
"No. I hesitated. I won't make a promise I cannot keep."
"Good. A promise not kept is just as bad as an outright lie. Well, to a dog anyway."
"And to a human." 
Sighing, she reached into her pocket and found a piece of peanut butter cookie. She gave it to Finnegan, smiling as she watched happiness make him wiggly. Why couldn't all people be wiggly? She wondered. And how could she help her friend be brave enough to stop dreaming and start doing? There were so many people with talent and enthusiasm who found themselves in great paying jobs. But the jobs were paying for lives they didn't actually want to be living. No wiggling. No happiness. Just jobs that felt like jail cells, padded with dollar signs. And here she was at rock bottom, and another human, living comfortably, envied her for the pieces of the ladder she was hammering together. A ladder she was going to use to climb into the life she was determined to live. It was an unexpected moment, seeing herself through the lens of someone else's perspective. She had never considered that the view might be so positive. It was a gift she knew she would carry about with her for a very long time. Maybe forever. It was a gift she knew that someday, she would be able to share with another. 
"You're smiling, " Finnegan observed, hoping for  another cookie.
"Yes. I'm feeling wiggly."

Finding Hidden Sunshine.

More rain. Cotton candy clouds spilling down the mountainsides for days kept bringing a pervasive, wet chill into the world. Finnegan was decidedly displeased. Walking in the rain was not to his liking. Neither, he discovered, was walking during a snowfall. Snow, he informed his Human Woman, was still rain, no matter if Mother Nature tried to dress it up in soft, white, fluffy camouflage. Snow melted in his eyes and on his head leaving wet spots, ergo, it was rain.
But a Corgi has gotta pee when a Corgi has gotta pee, so rain and snow cannot matter when the "business" end of things gets urgent. What did matter was the location of the bush nearest the front door. THAT mattered.
"When will the sun come out to play?" he asked plaintively, staring through the slats of the patio railing after their wet morning jaunt.
"Soon, little Olympian, soon. It went on vacation for the holidays, but it should be home sometime this week. The weatherman said so."
"Where does the sun go for vacation?" his limpid coffee eyes gazed up at her.
"Tahiti," she said decisively.
"Ta-hee-tee. Maybe we should go there with the sun next time it takes a vacation." Finnegan sounded wistful.
"That's a very good idea. Here's another one: let's get inside out of this chill and I'll make you some bacon. A warm little treat, sort of like sunshine for your tummy."
He scampered through the open door, chortling with happiness. "Sunshine for my tummy? You're so silly, Human Woman! Baconbaconbacon...."
The refrain continued until much later when, after some yummy bacon, he nestled down in his Scooby Doo bed with his soft fleece blanket and prepared for his 11am nap. He looked up at her quickly before dipping his nose down into the blanket.
"Thank you for the sunshine," his eyes glowed with happiness.
She smiled. The soggy outside world faded to nothing. Her boy, warm and sturdy in his little nest, his tummy full of bacon, had brought the sun inside with his contentment.

Zoom away the Itches!

It was a rainy December afternoon and Finnegan was feeling itchy. She watched him rolling about on the carpet trying to scratch his back before she sat down on the floor next to him. She was holding something pink  in her hand.
"Hold still," she whispered.
He did, but the look in his eyes was wary. He hated being brushed. Inevitably his hair got pulled and it sent painful tingles along the sensitive nerves in his back and down his sore hips. But as she began running the pink rubbery brush up and down his back in gentle circles, he could not contain his squirms of delight. My goodness this felt so goooooooood!
"Ohmygodohmygoohmygod!" He whined happily. "What is that? Don't stop!"
She laughed. "It's called a Zoom Groom. Kong makes it. Isn't it wonderful? It's the best dog brush I have ever found! Look at all this fur it's picking up from just your back! I could knit an entire sweater with this! It's getting rid of your shedding and you won't feel so itchy when you try to sleep tonight."
She flicked large clumps of black fur into the wastebasket and then went back to her circular scrubbing. Finnegan's tongue kept flicking out as he wiggled in joy beneath her ministrations. His hip dysplasia usually made any type of grooming somewhat painful, but this brush was made of a pliant rubber and the prongs did not snag or pull in his thick coat. And they scratched his itches in all the right places! Oh happy Corgi day! He loved the Zoom Groom.
"I hope it rains all day, Human Woman, all day!"

Typing a Life into Existence.

Rebuilding a life when you are halfway through it takes time. But when one is racing against the countdown of Life's Clock, time is the one thing that seems to be in short supply.
Finnegan lay on his bed, nose resting atop his paws, and considered the sight of his human at her computer. She typed as if her life depended upon it. She typed as if trying to corral every good idea in the universe onto a single page of paper. It would be a list of viable ideas, that she could print off and carry about in her back pocket to pull out and review on days when the panic of losing all hope began to take over.
He wanted to tell her that she was doing an amazing job. But he knew she would not believe him. Not yet. He wanted to thank her for keeping his food dish full, his water dish sparkling clean, for walking him 3 times a day and giving him belly rubs. But he knew she would shush him and tell him that was love and love takes no effort. It's as innate as breathing.
This very human business of rebuilding a life from the scrap heap of her previous one would be the miracle to end all miracles once she had managed it. She had explained that it was now about "earning a living" by doing what she loved. It was also about the practicalities of keeping a roof over their heads and being able to feel safe on cold winter nights. And she said something else that made him pay attention. She said it was about rebuilding to a point where she could then give back to someone else. And to someone else's dog, too. That made him wag his stubby tail.
He wondered about a life that did not rely upon "earning a living", as she called it.  What would a life without money entail? Would it be difficult to live off the land like a wolf? He could drink river water and roll in smelly stuff all day long. He could run with a pack of friends. Together they could sit and soak up long, lazy rays of the sun on summer afternoons and howl at the full moon on winter nights. He could hunt wild rabbits; And eat them if they would stand still long enough to be pounced upon. Hmmm. But he would not have his big, plush bed with its fleecy blanket. And frosty mornings might not be pleasant with his bad hips and no Human Woman to fuss over him and make him comfy. And of course, there would be a serious lack of Pupperoni. He did not think that wolves got to eat Pupperoni or peanut butter biscuits or yam and eggs. And they certainly did not get hugs. Oh. He would miss hugs almost as much as little treats!
"Keep typing, Human Woman, keep typing. We need to buy some Pupperoni!" He whispered.
She did not turn, she did not speak, but the corners of her mouth lifted in a smile. She continued typing their life into existence.