A dog will teach you unconditional love. If you can have that in your life, things won’t be too bad. (Robert Wagner)
I’ve often said that I won’t be allergic to dogs and cats in my next life—as if I had a genuine grasp of what a next life looks like, embraces, or involves. I don’t always know where my cell phone is, much less the substance of the infinite. However, I really would love to squat down and call, “Come here, Spike,” and then let my grand-dog lick my arms, neck, and face—slobber all over me if he wanted.
Spike is an example of acceptance and unconditional love.
My youngest granddaughter is sick. I’m bringing dinner to her daddy’s house. My visiting time must be limited. I can manage short encounters, but as soon as I feel the slightest chest tightness I need to leave the premises, as in immediately. Itchy eyes would be difficult enough; I need to give up breathing to enjoy the presence of a fur-bearing creature. Fortunately, the weather allows us to eat on the patio. Outside, Spike can shed all he wants and the air absorbs the allergens. And I can appreciate him.
He looks for morsels of dropped food, but doesn’t growl when no one gives him a handout. He already had dinner. He stops by my chair and looks up, dark eyes begging to be petted. I smile and congratulate him on his many virtues, but don’t make contact with his soft fur. He moves away, patiently lying close to the table and waits for attention.
I think about how unlike Spike I would be in similar circumstances. So you’re the snooty type. Okay, suit yourself. I don’t need you either. Perhaps my grand-dog sees deeper than I do. He settles next to Ella and her daddy as he cradles the suffering little girl in his lap. Maybe Spike is sending positive vibes.
It’s hard to tell what he understands. I don’t speak dog. The folk who have a loyal pet are both fortunate and blessed.
Spike is a tad larger, black with white markings, but his expression is similar to this dog’s.