Tolkien

I love my puppy, I really do. After our first [good] dog, Goliath, acquitted this earth, I wondered if we'd ever own another dog which I could love so much as I did Goliath. Turns out, I could. About exactly a year ago we brought Tolkien home. He's a pure-breed mutt, with some chow-chow in his blood, but for the first few months of his life he looked like a fluffy rottweiler. His ears remind me of satellite dishes, and combined with the mane of hair about his face, it would be an understatement to say his head looks rather disproportional. But aside from all these quirks that make him so great, that is not the reason I love him. I love him because, in many ways, I wanna be just like him. I've never met a human being take such an amazing view of life. (True, Tolkien isn't a human, but don't tell him I said that because he still thinks he's gonna look just like us when he grows up.) He's so easily pleased. When we were gardening a few days ago, he was puzzled that we'd throw away such perfectly lovable weeds. He chose a dandelion my mom had thrown out and proceeded to pounce, mouth, shake and toss it until there was hardly anything left. To him, everything is a toy. He does have a few favorite toys of course, such as the tire, deer bone, log, tow rope and ball of string. (I think that last one used to be a baseball, but it's hard to be sure now.) Tolkien is always happy. Nothing gets him down. He loves unconditionally, makes friends continually, kisses unreservedly, and would follow you to the ends of the earth.

Y'know, it's kind of sad-- how many people can you say that of? How many of us give completely of ourselves without trying to maintain our image, or get something out of the relationship? Couldn't we all learn a thing or two from dogs?