I’ve never been much of a dog person, but my daughter sure is. She loves dogs. She’s on her fourth “Dog Calendar” now – you know, the kind where there’s a new picture for each day of the year, and for my daughter, each doggie picture is cuter than the one before.
A little over a year ago, our family decided to adopt a rescue dog. We went in thinking we knew what we wanted (medium size, preferably black or mostly black). We chose Colo, even though he wasn’t exactly what we’d planned for (he’s white and the size of a small
house horse). It’s hard to explain how it happened, but we love this dog, and we brought him home.
Somehow this dog keeps digging his way deeper and deeper into my heart. I’ve learned to scratch his ears in just the right places, and I’ve come to understand that this dog is filled with hope.
When I reach for my shoes, he’s hoping for a walk. When he hears a crinkly sound, he’s hoping for a treat.
Tonight I was making chocolate chip cookies, and the dog plonked himself down on the floor at my feet, looking at me with those gorgeous brown eyes, expectantly, waiting, looking up, hoping, anticipating, at the ready, just in case some small bit of batter might happen to fly out of the bowl.
Which (he should know by now) was not likely! And even if some small bit of chocolate chip batter did dare take the plunge toward the eager dog lying in wait below … how could he imagine that I would not, with my lightening-fast ninja-like reflexes, intercept it long before he had even the remotest chance? This dog lives in hope!
He knows that I am not some clumsy cook who would carelessly cast off delectable delights, especially not ones containing compounds dangerous to dogs. Yet he hopes!
Why shouldn’t he hope? Why shouldn’t we? After all, here I am alive and baking cookies five years after a terrible diagnosis. Why shouldn’t we live a life filled with hope?
Especially when the baker is holding out a spoon, filled with good cookie batter, just waiting for you! Hope!