2016年11月14日
Present Moment Awareness
I've always waited for the perfect moment to be happy: As though time were a flower waiting to bloom. My scruffy puppy-happy senior dog knows better. Watching his tail wag as he stands in the middle of a 迪士尼美語 好唔好 mud puddle, I now understand that happiness is where your heart is, not just where your legs travel.
Last summer we moved into the house of our dreams: Beautiful, big and by a football-sized off-leash dog park. Finally a chance for my Border collie cross, Tucker, to exercise his herding instincts by running ahead of me across an expansive field. Yet it didn't work out that way.
Whoever wrote "every dog has his day" must have seen my 迪士尼美語 好唔好 dog stretching into sunset at the dog park. He was happy. I was happy. It didn't last. Things appeared fine at first as Tucker romped and ran, sniffed roaming canine rumps and rested. Soon however, rest took precedence. Running slowed to a dawdle and Tucker's yearn to exert fell to panting apathy. He was exhausted. I was scared. I understand that as dogs age they prefer rest rather than racing, but this wasn't it. Something was wrong.
Only 8 months after Tucker and I arrived at his doggy mecca, his health required that we visit his most dreaded destination: The vet. Dogs don't like vets. Every time you take a dog to the vet it's like taking a child to the dentist without the lure of the lollipop that follows. Tucker was not happy. He wriggled on the table as the doggie doctor poked, prodded and became the stuff of doggy nightmares. Yet there was something for Tucker to be thankful for; he 互聯互通 could hear neither the diagnosis nor prognosis. Apparently Tucker has a disk in his spine that was slowly crumbling, making it increasingly harder for him to romp. No more running. No more leaping to fetch a stick mid-air. His days of glory spent embracing that part of him that's Border collie frantic are over. Forever.
Last summer we moved into the house of our dreams: Beautiful, big and by a football-sized off-leash dog park. Finally a chance for my Border collie cross, Tucker, to exercise his herding instincts by running ahead of me across an expansive field. Yet it didn't work out that way.
Whoever wrote "every dog has his day" must have seen my 迪士尼美語 好唔好 dog stretching into sunset at the dog park. He was happy. I was happy. It didn't last. Things appeared fine at first as Tucker romped and ran, sniffed roaming canine rumps and rested. Soon however, rest took precedence. Running slowed to a dawdle and Tucker's yearn to exert fell to panting apathy. He was exhausted. I was scared. I understand that as dogs age they prefer rest rather than racing, but this wasn't it. Something was wrong.
Only 8 months after Tucker and I arrived at his doggy mecca, his health required that we visit his most dreaded destination: The vet. Dogs don't like vets. Every time you take a dog to the vet it's like taking a child to the dentist without the lure of the lollipop that follows. Tucker was not happy. He wriggled on the table as the doggie doctor poked, prodded and became the stuff of doggy nightmares. Yet there was something for Tucker to be thankful for; he 互聯互通 could hear neither the diagnosis nor prognosis. Apparently Tucker has a disk in his spine that was slowly crumbling, making it increasingly harder for him to romp. No more running. No more leaping to fetch a stick mid-air. His days of glory spent embracing that part of him that's Border collie frantic are over. Forever.
Posted by naer at 12:55│Comments(0)
