Blog
Hi friends! I’m sorry I have run away for SO long and have not been a good dog. But today I will SIT and STAY on my couch so that we can visit and catch up because I have missed you all!
There has been a lot of recent activity on my couch. Last week my workplace was crowded with people moaning and groaning that they ate too much turkey and dressing. I cuddled up next to them (my FAVORITE thing!) as they dozed, and only the lure of French Silk and apple pie made them stand up and head out to the kitchen. But then they were back on my couch, sipping coffee and getting all comfy and cozy again. Only a touchdown or bad call by the refs could rouse them out of their food comas. I was in heaven, getting so many pets and head scratches.
The tree is all green and scratchy and lighting up the couch at night. It seems to have triggered something in the humans, however, because I am suddenly getting stress vibes blowing over me like a good old-fashioned prairie blizzard. “Sophie,” they say. “There’s so much to do. Buy gifts. Make cookies. Host the party. Oh, my. How will I get it all done?”
The humans pull their hood over their heads and groan, but I simply lay my paw on them and remind them in my doggy way – this season is about BEING present, not BUYING presents.
Take time to scratch a friend behind the ear. Take a long walk in the snow. Stop by and visit a lonely shut-in or someone with no family in town. And give someone a treat without any expectation of a trick. Preferably hide it in their doggy bed so they don’t even know who gave it to them.
There have been a few people stopping by who are burdened by worry and dread. Cancer has been discovered, the central port has been placed, and they have cut their hair short so that it doesn’t plug the shower drain when it starts to fall out. I lay my paw on them, to let them know better trails lie ahead.
FLAT trails. Trails with a view.
Right now the hill is so very steep, and the fog so very thick that a sojourner can’t even see what lies ahead. But there are notes along this trail, left by others who have made the climb. They, too, have stumbled over rocks, reaching out in desperation to grab onto trees or ropes or outstretched hands, but eventually they have made it to the top. Out of breath. Knees bloodied. But at the TOP. And it is FLAT. And they can rest and catch their breath again.
Some humans come to my couch with broken hearts. Some hearts are raw, exposed, oozing with pain from the recent loss of a loved one. Others have hearts that are crisscrossed with healing scars, and these people also sit on my couch and stare at their hands. “If I just could call them one more time,” they say. “Ask them how they would handle this situation. Tell them about the owl we saw in the yard. Talk to them about ANYTHING and EVERYTHING. Make plans to meet for coffee. Just hear that voice. That laugh.” The season of bells and lights can seem deafening and dark when there are empty chairs at the table. For these people, there are simply no words. And, since a dog has no words, I offer a paw. A soft ear. The nearness of a beating heart to remind them they are not alone in their grief.
Some people have bounced onto my couch with JOY, because the SNOW has arrived! Gone are the piles of dirt that never got spread, the leaves that were never raked and the hose that never got rolled up and put away. Now they are buried for the season, and the pure, clean snowy mantle has hidden all the unfinished pieces of our lives. It is a fresh start. Like grace, the snow has covered all our sins.
I must chuckle at my mom now on hikes. The new snow is a fresh slate and – like schoolchildren on caffeine – the woodland animals have gone CRAZY writing all over it. “Oh,” my mom says as Ellie and I stop to smell at a deer trail, “THAT is why you girls always stop and sniff along this area.” Deer. Rabbits. Squirrels. Suddenly the secret habits of forest animals have become obvious to all who walk the trail. And not just the four-legged animals reveal their presence.
“Whoa!” my mom will say. “Someone else beat us out onto the trails this morning, girls.” She knows this because of the boot prints, but we know (because of SMELLS) that most days – year-round - there have been others that are out earlier on the trail than us. A bad dog might say, “Get a clue, Mom,” but we just laugh at how humans might be smart in some things, but dogs are smart in ALL things when it comes to previous trekkers on the trail.
Well, this has been so nice reconnecting, but I see there are a few people waiting for me so I had better get back to work. (This is a busy time of year when your work desk is a couch.) But let me encourage you before I go. No matter what trail you are currently on, no matter how lonely or difficult it might be, I can tell you that others have gone before you on that trail and they have survived it. YOU might not be able to see their tracks, but I can assure you that they have been there. (The nose knows!) So, my friends, hang in there – you can do it. And not just somehow, but triumphantly!
And as for the snow? Rejoice that it has covered all the dirt. The grime. The unfinished chores. And revel in the revelation of clues to the secret animal world all around you, whether it is out on the hiking trail or in your very own back yard. You didn’t know what you didn’t know last fall, but now you can see it in the snow. So go outside, get a clue, and try to keep up with your dog!
Blessings to you all, my friends.
Sophie