I look up inside my house that was once perfect. A twice over remodel, it now looks tired.
Wonderful. The light bulb burns out. Ok, we got this. Replace it, and carry on. I attempt to change the bulb, however, this idea doesn’t work. A simple task turns into a chore. The light cover won’t budge. It’s stuck.
The light bulb is not replaced, and the “to do” list gets longer. As the fixture hangs there, broken, I wonder why life isn’t easier. A collapsing roof, bills piling up, and a leaking spicket—it makes the car accident and backed up sewer seem trivial.
I look down and continue to work on a project for a buck ninety eight.
My dog, Devlin works on his Chewy.
I’ve often been the ‘glass half full’ type, reassuring everyone with positive affirmations and encouragement. But since this last recession, The Little Train That Could is sputtering and losing fuel, fast. Close to falling off the tracks altogether, the saving grace comes to me in the form of a tolerant rescue dog. Devlin isn’t Mr. Wonderful, but he is my Mr. Man. He needs me when nobody else does. When I am lost, he finds me. And, he loves me, even when I’m a jerk. Devlin rescues me more times than I am willing to admit.
Feeling stuck living in a sleepy town half way between Yawnsville and the coveted Whosville, big dreams seem a thing of the past. My environment isn’t welcoming to high hopes. Too many memories attached to a place we call “home”, I’m ready to leave this area.
Devlin pauses, scratches his ear, then goes back to work with gusto.
Have you ever been so stuck in the dark you don’t even recognize yourself? So blue and broken that if you did own rose colored glasses, you would’ve backed over them while pulling out of the garage. But, I am special. After all, I’m that “creative-God gifted-you’re-so-talented-I-wish-I-was-you” person—otherwise known as—starving artist. If Artists are gifts from God, the compensation package just might reflect its special honor. They say success comes to those who work hard. Well, let’s just say I am very successful.
So, I keep working on the project awarded to me.
And Devlin keeps working on his Chewy.
He is enthusiastic, unscathed, and content. His tattered dog bed is just fine, and being short one light doesn’t bother him a bit. The darkness only heightens his sense of smell. In fact, to Devlin, the scent of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for the fourth day in a row is simply divine. He needs nothing more than what he has. Devlin is happy with what is. Perfect with love alone, his life is wonderful.
The Midwest snowstorms have been cruel and have overstayed their welcome this season. The shoveling has gotten the best of us, taxes are due in a few days, and evidently, I am “over-qualified” for every job there is in this world.
I again pick up the busted shovel. With a bent and cracked handle, I go out to conquer the white stuff. Round 3: Crazy Dog Lady vs. Driveway.
Devlin, who’s adopted name means “fierce courage” in Gaelic, looks up from his work, as if to read my mind. He pants, then smiles at me.
I decide to take Devlin outside first. He couldn’t be any happier. The unforgiving March snow stings my fingertips, and I am mad. Devlin is not. He forgives Old Man Winter. Even with bitter cold raw paws, he holds no grudges.
All at once, as if slapped in the face, I turn my attention to the black and white love machine; romping in a snow bank, diving in for his ball. He hops around like a bunny on Easter Sunday. I observe Devlin in curiosity. I know exactly what makes life easier. An upward curve begins to form on both sides of my mouth. Devlin’s nose is covered with snow, and his eyes twinkle in wonderment.
The happiness is contagious. I give in. I throw a snowball and hop around too. The wind whips my face, and I laugh. I am happy with what is. A winter wonderland—if you let it be.
After we play, I whistle as I shovel. Then, I head back inside to change the light bulb. Three taps, and the cover is set free. I replace the bulb, and carry on. Thank you Devlin, for showing me that nothing is ever that bad.
April commemorates Pets Are Wonderful (PAW) Month.
*Note from Author: Pets are wonderful—each day of the month; any month of the year.
Christina Bournias resides in Michigan with her 3-pack; three new beautiful adopted miracles. As her “Angelwriter”, Nicodemus (1997-2010) is the wisdom behind the stories she shares. Christina champions the magnitude of building the bond between a dog and their person(s) by means of respectful communication and enduring admiration.
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March, 2014: American Pet Magazine | V3 Issue2, Page 14,15