I wish I could be more like my dog.
This morning, she wakes up, runs over to my bed and puts her wet nose on me, so happy and excited–“Hey, there’s my person-mommy! Right there beside me, and low enough I can KISS her! Hurray!”
I crawl out of bed and go let her outside. She frisks and jumps and pees, then sniffs and jumps and frisks. Do you think she’s bothered by the fact that the sun is up at 5 a.m. every morning and that the blackout curtains I bought don’t blackout for shit? Nope.
Do you think she cares that even though we have rented this lovely mountain home in a dinky little Costa Rican pueblo on an itty-bitty road that really is only wide enough for one vehicle, that the motorcycles rip up and down it like it’s a dirt-bike track, AT ALL HOURS OF THE DAY AND NIGHT? No, she doesn’t give a fiddler’s fart. Whee! More fun things to bark at.
She also doesn’t seem to mind that there is a bus stop, A BUS STOP, that we didn’t know about, up the hill from our rental house. And the fact that they start their route at 6 a.m. and end it at something like 9 p.m., doesn’t faze her either.
We humans have this disability called “expectations”. We have them, and when the world does not match them, we’re unhappy. But Juno doesn’t seem to be afflicted with this disability. She’s here with us and gets dry kibble morning and night. Life is good. Pura Vida.
I am going to work to over come my disability and be more like my little wiggle-butt pooch. I want to be happy with what I have, even if it is nothing more than a damp toilet paper roll.