Day #27 I'm taking a chance on my subject for today; please remember I started this blog to write about difference makers. Valentino is a difference maker, as is Coco and Manolo. I personally know what a difference Crash has made to my neighbor and also to me.
Yes, I am writing about dogs. There are dogs on this planet that make a huge difference to our world, they rescue babies from burning buildings, alert their owners to pending fires or break-ins, help law enforcement agencies on the war against drugs. They all deserve their own blog. This blog is about dogs in general, and a great deal about one dog in particular.
As I was meditating this morning, Valentino was right there with me. He has now learned that when I sit on the floor and lean back on the davenport in the living room, it is not time to play, get a belly rub, get a head scratch or some other delicious treat. He knows it is time to be still. I never told him this, but he knows. He will either lay next to me, or take a place behind my head on the sofa and wait for me to be complete. He knows that as soon as I put my journal away, it becomes Valentino time. He is patient. He never rushes me. He is loyal. He shows up again and again. He only wants to be near me, and does not ask for anything in return. Five years ago after surgery, I spent almost a week in a drug-induced fog, praying for relief from pain, and doing little else. Valentino stayed on the bed, his head on my leg or arm. There were no treats, no toys, no wrestling nor hide-and-seek. There was me sleeping. He only wanted to be near me. My thought is, that is pure love. I do not have that type of love. That type of love heals. It heals the body. Research shows that people with high blood pressure are able to lower their blood pressure as they pet or stroke a dog. That type of love definitely heals. I know it heals the heart. 26 years ago my heart and spirit were broken. I owned a Great Dane. She would literally attempt to lick my tears. She'd put her paw on my shoulder and I promise you, she would send some type of energy to me. Well, I know I felt better. Thirty-six years ago my six-week old daughter, Rebecca, died of SIDS. Four months later, my husband came home with a small, red ball of fur. Carrie got all of us through that Christmas.
My younger daughter has a dog that always makes me laugh. The harder I laugh, the more Manolo runs in circles, jumps up and over whatever is in her space, and I can feel myself lighter and brighter. Coco belongs to my other daughter. She will curl up with a sick child or an upset adult, or attack what she believes are those possibly wanting to invade the space of my daughter and her family. Coco knows her job is to care 24/7 for a family of six; she seems to love her work.
I would love to hear about your dog (or cat). Donna Lipman, the president of WOMCD, has two cats, Romeo and Tilly. When her husband, Terry Lipman, died suddenly, they both stayed with her. They got close as they seemed to share in her grief. Our animals, I believe, are a way for us to experience unconditional love.
Much has been written about unconditional love. Perhaps saints or the holy men and women of the ages were able to love in this manner. As I said, I know I do not seem to be able to do this. Intellectually, I can love humanity; I am able to feel compassion for those who do not behave in ways that are helpful to me, and I have finally reached a point in my life where I am able to forgive quickly. I know, beyond a doubt, that I can not, do not want to, probably will never, follow those I love the most while they ignore me. I want something back. Something more than a walk around the block, or time to run in the park.
Action Taken: Acceptance, devotion, unconditional love.
If you don't have a pet, find a cat or dog at your local pound and adopt them. You will be healed.
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