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How Passionately Fierce Life Could Be

dog sniffing the air before a storm

By late afternoon the skies were shrouded in ominous grey clouds. The storm front was easily visible and creeping slowly toward us.

My human had rushed about here and there, shutting windows, in the event the swollen clouds released the rain before our return from our walk.

At the park, I stood calm against the impending storm.  I could smell the rain in the air.  The scent of ozone swirled around.

For me, there is something almost magical right before the clouds weep, an anticipation of sorts. Like you knew this tremendous energy was about to be released and you wanted to absorb just a slice. To be a little bit wild and unpredictable.

In that moment you could get a glimpse of, not how life was, but how passionately fierce it could be.

Let’s set fire to the rain,

Jack

 

Or Maybe, It Was I

It was June. Endless fields of grass stretched out in front of me.

The green of the grass was beautiful and vivid after the spring rains.

The blades danced in the gentle wind as they reached up in supplication to the setting sun, singing thanks for the warmth of the day.

As I walked through the field, it seemed to me that the grass was happy.

Or maybe, it was I who was happy.

Carpe Diem,

Jack

Life Was a Highway

Life was a Highway

The first thing I noticed was the distinct sound. I looked down the street and saw a motorcycle approaching.  My heart held a special place for motorcyclists. Most riders I knew picked adventure over comfort and saw life through a unique lens.

Life was a highway, they said. We all picked our own roads and how we chose to travel on them.  It made me wonder if all humans who enjoyed riding a motorcycle had a different view of life’s highway.

First, because I was a canine and much of my life was processed through scent, I wondered if it had to do with the olfactory experience. Imagine the abundance of smells that were experienced all at once by the constant rush of air when on the open road.

And then I wondered if it had something to do with the lean. Unlike passive vehicle driving, motorcycles demanded the rider lean into turns.  On a bike, you can’t sit back and let the bike do all the work for you; you must be equally engaged.  It was a whole-body experience.  And there was a sweet spot in the lean; too far either way had unintended outcomes.

Finally, I wondered if maybe it was simply because motorcycle riders knew that the road listened to what they had to say.

How ever you choose to navigate life’s highway, may your travels be safe, your view unobstructed and your adventures many.

 

Black And White Photos: Transcended Beyond Memory

I am not all that fond of black and white photos of myself. There is a somberness in the lack of color in the surroundings that makes my heart ache. It feels as if the photo is capturing the very essence of my soul, with all its shadows created by the judgement of others, and placed on display for everyone to see. It is almost too real to bear.

And now that moment captured on film has transcended beyond memory; to be relived at any time with a simple glance at the grey image.

It is a bit of an odd situation to be in, striving to sit in comfort with self while the chatter of self-recrimination echoes.

But alas, that is where I spend most of my time.

Until next time,

Jack

Waiting For Nature to Speak

I watched out the door as the snow continued to fall.  Each flake kissed the ground softly. My breath frosted the pane, softening the edges of my world.

Everything, as far as I could see, was draped in snow.  It was hard to distinguish the ground from the sky; the horizon blurred into a vast white nothingness.

Winter had gone on for months now.  The cold was settling into our bones. The excitement we felt at winter’s first snow had log ago evaporated and spring felt far away.

The night was silent, as though waiting for nature to speak; to whisper the joy and beauty of winter, for we had forgotten.

Keep warm,

Jack

A Valentine’s Day Dog Story Of Love

Heartwarming Short Dog Story called Valentine's Day Dog Story of Love

I watched, snuggled into her shoulder, as she scrolled through another article. She was focused on the little screen pretty much to the exclusion of all else.

Yeah, she knew, in some abstract way, that I was there, resting my eyes and enjoying the silence of the afternoon. But she didn’t know know.

You know?

I had faded into the periphery, acknowledged but not immediately significant.

At that moment, I wondered what would happen if I challenged her devotion to her devices and placed myself in her direct line of vision.

I quickly assembled a plan.

Oh, this was going to be fun.

I hoped anyway.

I jumped down from my comfy perch and onto her lap. I rested my paws on her shoulders and licked her face  To say she was surprised was an understatement.

I was now squarely between her and her device.

What was she going to do? Would I be banished to the floor?

My plan had been hastily devised and I hadn’t really considered the consequences.  I snuck a quick look at her expression.


She smiled her joy.

My joy was her smile.

It was magnificently perfect.

How could I ever forget that she loved me?

Happy Valentine’s Day, Y’all.

Hug your human.

Jack

Wouldn’t It Be Lovely To Chat With Chewbacca

In this Heartwarming short dog story Jack is learning the language of the Wookiees

After watching the trailer for Star Wars The Rise of Skywalker, I had a sudden urge to learn Shyriiwook, the language of the Wookiees.

There is something about speaking a second language that appeals to my ego.  I feel accomplished.  Now that I know that Shyriiwook is a difficult, even impossible language for most non-Wookiees to speak,  I feel doubly accomplished. I think I even have the colloquialisms down.

Although my accent and pronunciation may not sound natural to a native Wookiee, I impress most humans with my learned skills.

Oh, wouldn’t it would be lovely to sit and chat with Chewbacca. I think we would understand and connect with each other far beyond simply speaking the same language.

Ruh gwyaaaag (I am friend)

Muaarga (Peace)

Jack

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An Essential Stop On The Hero’s Journey

dog short story of white dog running through snow in forest

There is something wonderful about running unabandoned through the trees with no particular purpose beyond the joy of movement and the moment.

In my experience, forests are sacred places. A space to explore who you are without reprimand or expectation. For the surrounding trees do not sit in judgment.  They allow you to be you.

I found myself wondering why in the great literary tales, the forest is an essential stop on the hero’s journey.  I think it is because meandering lost through the vast woodlands grants the hero an opportunity to discover depths of self, literally and metaphorically. To achieve true contentment,  the hero must overcome the challenge of embracing who and what they are; raw and naked without societal buffers of defined roles and labels.

Here’s to becoming a hero,

Jack

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