
PART 1 ARTICLE 12 AUDIO FILE IN FOOTER ♫
As Ben and Gerri nap on my lap after a long dog day, I wonder:
What are their thoughts? What do they dream about? Do they know their sacred life’s purpose?
Reverie gently blends into a dream as I, too, drift off…
Ben speaks first, “I had the best day today — running, sniffing, catching flies in my mouth. I turned on a dime as each new thing appeared, embracing everything.
The air, freshly scented with flowers, humans, grass, and everything else it carried, thrilled me!
Little animals taunted me with their presence, confident they were just out of range of my enthusiasm.
I greeted everyone with a bark — of excitement, welcome, warning, fear, joy, and a declaration that this is MY HOME, MY SPACE!
What is this thing that makes me so happy to be alive?”
“It’s called mindfulness, Ben. Paying attention to every detail of our lives, just as it is, makes life worthwhile — every moment, every day.”
“Do humans do that?” Ben asks.
“Not as much as they should, Ben. But it would make all the difference in lives that hold so much pain.”
“Does that make dogs better, Mom?”
“In so many ways, yes, Ben, it does.”
Rolling her eyes, Gerri says, “I just like sniffing butts! Nuzzling underwear fresh out of the laundry basket is pretty great too.”
“Yeah, Gerri, we’ve all noticed.”
I ask, “What is it about that which fulfills you so deeply?”
“It tells me everything I need to know in a way only dogs can understand.
Who are you?
What do you think?
Are you kind?
Are you well?”
“I wish I could do it all day, but sometimes you stop me. Why?” Gerri asks.
“It’s called being kind and considerate, Gerri. We have to consider the needs of those around us, as well as our own, to live peacefully in the world.”
“That sucks,” Gerri mutters.
“Watch it,” I reply, as she flashes her signature crooked-toothed grin.
She sits on my lap, gazing into the distance with regal posture, steadfast in her belief that she’s the most ravishing dog goddess on the planet.
She turns ever so slightly, gracing me with her presence and dog wisdom.
With a hint of sadness, Gerri says, “Sometimes you aren’t mindful of me. I really hate that!
You hold that little black thing in your hands, tapping and tapping as if I don’t exist!”
“I’m sorry, Gerri. I’m not perfect.”
“I know. But I know how to fix it! It works every time! First, I tap you with my paws, then growl softly and add a gentle bark.”
“Does that work?”
“Not always but sticking my butt in your face does the trick every time! Suddenly, you are very mindful of me!”
I feel both irritated and warmed as she smiles her sardonic, snaggle-toothed grin.
Once again, she reminds me that our presence is the best gift we have to give — over and over again.
Looking a little worried, as Ben always does, he confides, “I bark all the time, but sometimes it makes you a little angry.
Don’t you know I do it to protect you? There are noises, shadows, and things outside that might hurt you.
As the dog of the house, I need to intervene!
Sometimes these scary things come out of that box you always watch on the mantle!

What is a dog to do?
This is one way I show you how much I love you!”
“Aww, Ben, thank you for letting me know. I will try to keep that in mind.
Mom, how do I know you love me back?”
“You still have your larynx, don’t you?”
“I do love my larynx!”
Ruffling Ben’s shaggy head and ears, I hug him with all I’ve got. Not to be left out, Gerri wedges herself —not just her butt — into the hug fest.
The ever-earnest Ben, with his penetrating dark brown eyes filled with genuine concern, seems to know when I’m sad, unwell, or just feeling lost.
His now glistening eyes are brimming with love as he buries his head deeply into my chest, assuring me I am not alone.
Ben asks, “What is this thing that gives us such joy and peace?”
“It’s called unconditional love, Ben.
Doggies understand it so much better than humans do.”
Contentedly, he smiles his gentle, all-knowing doggie grin.
Gerri trots away, shaking her butt in total doggie bliss.
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