I find it hard to love freely. Sad people are ok. People in crisis that I read about are easy. It’s the aggressive, overbearing, opinionated, in your face people that get to me. The stuck in their ways, plodders, who would smile if they had the energy, but it’s not their job to and Lord knows they’re busy enough as it is, also get to me. Which brings me to our dog.
Molly is almost twelve. She is a mutt, bought at the wrong time (the same week we moved into a new house with an almost two year old, a lot of years ago). She has been raised by people who are largely not dog people. We love her, but we find it strange when people visit who want to touch her for hours and roll around on the floor with her. At first, Molly and Boy one were at the same maturity/intelligence level. Luckily, Boy one moved on. Since then, we’ve had three more children and moved to a farm. Molly is great with everybody. She killed a few chickens when we first moved to the farm, but she wasn’t angry, they were just too interesting not to shake by the neck.
For the month of April, Molly shared our house with visiting dog, Jasmine. A few weeks ago, we got kittens. These days I run out the door many times a day to check on chicks and lambs. With the end of school coming into view, the kids lives are filling up with extra concerts, games and end of year projects. Molly’s routine is definitely disrupted.
Misty, the pony, Michelle, the human, we’ll let you know if people start setting us off to the side for good causes or other. (It’s not complaining, it’s advocating. Think life skill.) If you forget who I am and what kind of homage I deserve in this house, you can most definitely plan on hearing me advocate as loudly as needed until a change is made.
Molly isn’t like that. She’s her affectionate self regardless. In just about every way, things are best for both of us when Molly and I get to the woods each day. – But when it’s not best and hasn’t been best for a few days, and I call her for a walk, or stop to talk to her, there’s no payback for not coming sooner. She’s happy to see me, always. Happy to be together now, despite what was or wasn’t before.
I love to walk with her, but I don’t like being licked. I don’t talk dog. It’s not that I don’t try, but on gung ho dog loving, I don’t think I do it right. It doesn’t seem to matter. Molly doesn’t have charts of my pros and cons, she just loves me. There is no bitterness for who I am not, only joy, somehow unbounded, for who I am.
I’m starting to wonder, excepting the chicken part, what if God is like Molly?