Nothingness

There's a reason dogs are made without pockets:  owning nothing gives you nothing to carry, and having nothing to carry gives you less to worry about. 

People are peculiar.  They will sacrifice their health to make money, only to turn around and spend all that money trying to get themselves healthy.  They stress about the future so much they sacrifice enjoying the present, the end result being they live in neither the future or the present.  They live like they are never going to die, and then die never having really lived.  


She is a worrier; if worrying paid well, it might have some benefit.  But I don't see it.  I know I don't have much control over anything, and, to be honest, it's a relief to let someone else carry the ball.  Or the bone.  


When I stand at the door of the office for the umpteenth time during the day, staring back at her, does she really think I have to pee?  





 

The Art of Happiness (The Dog's Eye View)

Can life possibly get any better?

Studies show that the Danish are the happiest people.  I've met a couple of Great Danes in my life, but they never seemed happier than any other dog.  


Happiness, like sadness, like a full stomach and a game of fetch, is an ephemeral state.  It's like the weather, I believe:  wait five minutes and something is bound to change.


I watch her struggle for constancy even while she knows how fluid everything is.  If she would pay a little more attention to ME, maybe she'd notice I'm a good model for adapting to the flow.  One can find happiness in just about anything, like discovering cookie crumbs in the bottom of a jacket pocket.  The gift of something sweet comes most often when completely unexpected.  


A sunny day, some attention, a few tosses of the ball and I'm a happy guy.  And, as far as I know, I have not got a Danish gene in me.  So there you go.