It's a Canine Christmas

Barkley the black lab watched me quietly as I sipped tea and picked up a book, Celtic Women Christmas playing softly, as I read out loud a poem by Boris Levinson. He picks his head up as if he can almost understand the words.

People would probably think me daft, sitting and talking to my dog, making some cookies for the guys at work while the neighborhood sleeps, or just sitting some evening quietly watching the fire, I can talk softly about the things that will matter to me the rest of my life. And he only reacts to the heft of my words or the urgency of tone as I talk -about missing people I love, and the nature of death and war and the way I've had to look deep into my own capacities to become the person I am. And if perhaps, as words flow, so does a single tear, he will stop whatever he's doing and quietly lick the tear off my cheek, until the thoughts that brought it have gone up the chimney with woodsmoke.

Yes, as many people might say, he's just a dog. He'll never win any awards as a rocket scientist. He still sits patiently by the spot next to the counter where once a roast chicken fell on the floor, as if there's a secret poultry shrine there and if he waits long enough, another will reappear on its alter. He'll chase the same ball for an hour, convinced he's on some major breakthrough in retrieval tactics. And he's consumed an entire pizza, a sock, a plastic sandwich bag, a jalapeno pepper and a dead worm, all with the same gusto.

But our pets are family to many of us, and are much more than animals. They teach us about unbridled living in the moment and following your heart. They teach us to appreciate the simple things. . . fresh coffee cake warm from the oven, the glint of sun off a pond that matches the brilliance of the Christmas lights, one last walk around the neighborhood as the stars finally fade. As Barkley goes into full point on a plastic reindeer in someones yard, I think how he has also pointed me to the things that matter in life. Loyalty, devotion and love without strings attached.

Just an animal? So much more I think, as he pulls me through the the woods as the Christmas season is upon us. Ignoring the cold, we look into the heavens for a last glimpse of the Dog Star; we run joyfully up the nearest hill, as Sirius is so near.