I am nursing an injured pup back to health. 3 months, 9 pounds, perky ears, heart of gold.
I wake up to her tail wagging each morning. Her wide, amber eyes, search mine for the love and warmth she’s come to know. She shuffles into my lap and settles for a brief moment, her soft fur brushing against my skin. Her contentment is pure. Her tiny body wiggles with excitement for another day, reminding me what it means to be present.
She does not think in yesterdays or tomorrows. Now is all that matters. She does not fret about the future, nor dwell on the past. She holds no grudges, and has no regrets. Her pain is not dreaded nor feared; it is simply felt.
Her joy is immeasurable. Curiosity drives her, and her senses guide her. She pounces on leaves, chews a stick, scratches an itch. A few steps more and she rolls down the hill, swept up in dirt and grass. Her playful spirit is contagious. Ants go by. She watches intently.
I look at her and am in awe of her good-naturedness. “I want to be more like you,” I say.
She seeks love only to return it. Each new face, a friend; each new tail, a playmate. She is immediately adored and ever adoring.
She takes up little space, though her presence only grows. Her toys squeak and I cannot help but smile at what has become a favorite sound. She chases the cat and nibbles on her leash that hangs by the door.
She wears a cone this week, but it does not slow her down. She slips right into it, as if immune to its hindrance. I look at her and am in awe of her good-naturedness. “I want to be more like you,” I say. She gazes back.
Can a creature so small leave such a large imprint on those around her? In a few short days, she has taught me as much about resilience as most humans I know. I call her, and she leaps to my feet. She pauses at the top of the stairs. I scoop her up, and hold her tight.