One of my favourite dogs, Ruby, died a couple of weeks ago. She lived with Kathy and Michael and Mia and Grace along with her ‘brother’ the fabulous Darcy (who thankfully is still there), and they would both enthusiastically run to the door and bark in greeting whenever I visited. Their soppy good nature and friendliness were and are gorgeous qualities. There is something about the enthusiasm and acceptance of dogs. The way they love us even if we are in a mess. They don’t care if we are rich or poor, organised or disorganised, successful or struggling. They don’t care if everyone else thinks we’re nothing special. They just love us, and we love them. It’s mutual and wonderfully consoling. It would be great if we felt this more with each other. If we had a way of disregarding the things about each other that are fundamentally not important and just piling on the love, wagging our tails, eager, over the top, magnificent.
(This post is for Kathy especially, with lots of love.)