As the years sail into the sunset like dust in the wind, I'm becoming more like a dog.
But that's good.
Except when I'm eating. That's not so good.
Like a dog I eat too fast but I don't care.
Not caring - also doglike. But still good.
Like a dog, devoid of pretense, stripped of artifice.
Real.
Like a dog - living in the moment. On top of the world, most of the time at least.
Like a dog - content to do nothing but watch the world go round, although I suspect that most dogs are flat-earthers.
Like a dog - taught to obey and behave. But the fun part is misbehavin'.
Hee hee, ha ha, ho ho.
Like a dog I explore my world, though be it humble, cloistered - teeming with nosy neighbors. Nonetheless, precious little wonders abound:
The shrubs next to the school sheltering that family of rabbits, the Peter Cottontails.
The discarded red running shoe in the school yard, (How did that happen?)
The cat in the hat living under the porch next door. Bet he eats mice. Hopefully not with lice. Mice with lice - not good.
On summer weekends, I take my dog to the park where there's a hidden clover patch behind the majestic evergreens. He rolls around in the fluffy clover, I lie on my back and contemplate the clouds, basking in the coolness of Earth on my back. Bound together by gravity we chill, we clear our cluttered heads.
That's good, I need it.
A dog's world is fresh the more familiar it becomes.
A thought to hold.
A dog takes nothing for granted, not even a blade of grass.
To see the world through the eyes of a dog is to see the world through the eyes of a child is to see the world anew, possibilities unlimited.
To behold life in all its mundane glory, in all its complexity,. The elegance of its simplicity.
