She is a little thing...

Soft and furry.

 Her eyes were once bright and didn’t miss a thing.

 Cataracts and a stroke have blinded her.  She doesn’t seem to care. 

 She wanders the house, bumper-car-like, pinging off of chair legs and anything left on the floor.

 She tries to exit the house through the sliding glass door.   It takes her a few tries.   She jumps and bumps and jumps again.

 The ping-ponging continues as she wanders across the patio trying to find the grass.    Landscape rocks and patio furniture are no deterrent for her determination.

 The other day I was re-filling the treat jar.

 After I finished the task, I almost stumbled over her.

 There she was.

 Sitting and looking vaguely in my direction.

Waiting.

 

 Just waiting.

 She just knew that somehow in her blind universe a treat was going to materialize.

 She didn’t know where it was going to come from.

 She couldn’t see who was going to give it to her.

 She.

Just.

Knew.

I held the treat down to her and said, “Here, Belle.   You are a good girl.”   She took it immediately from my fingers, ate it and wandered off.

 Geez.

Geez.

I feel like I really might need to get more of a life when I find myself taking philosophy lessons from a little blind dog.

 But her attitude really hit me between the eyes.

 Yes.

 She is a dog.

 But, seriously.

 She’s not sitting there with no hope, whining about things in the past.

 She’s not dreaming about what might be tomorrow.

 She is just sitting there.

Patiently.

 Knowing that even though she ran into the rock and the kitchen chairs earlier, something better might be coming now.  

  She makes me think. 

There is no point in yearning for past days and past relationships and for the times when you felt like you could see everything clearly.

 

...

 Yes.

 She is a little thing.

 Soft and furry.

Her eyes were once bright and didn’t miss a thing.

 She is a good dog.

 And she reminded me of something I really, really need to remember.