So on my way to my doctor's office this morning I passed by the old apartment complex on the east side that I lived at when I first moved to Austin. "Ahh," I thought, "that is where I taught Annie to retrieve tennis balls."
I had forgotten where I was for a moment, mainly because I was still not so silently cursing the taxi driver who had just made a U-Turn directly in front of me, nearly causing me to broadside him and his unsuspecting passenger. (On a side note, I wonder if anyone else ever thinks about intentionally ramming other drivers when they do stupid things like that? I am not talking about actually accelerating into them, but more like just not slamming on my brakes to avoid hitting them. I have that reaction all the time but never act on it. I usually end up just cussing them, then getting frustrated with myself for not being more loving and tolerant. Crazy isn't it?)
Anyway, when the cloud of craziness was lifted I saw where I was. "Ahh," I thought, "that is where I taught Annie to retrieve tennis balls." Love and tolerance returned to me and I smiled. Dogs generally have that affect on me.
My time living at that apartment complex was strange and depressing for me, for reasons that I do not need to go into here. Suffice it to say that I was a full-time law student who would rather have been teaching history, oppressed by the wild antics of an abusive alcoholic wife whom I no longer recognized. What I remember as the bright side of that period was that I was able to live with two great dogs, both of whom have since passed on to a place where chewing on furniture and eating out of trash cans is unquestionably acceptable behavior.
Annie was a long-haired tan dog that closely resembled Higgins, the dog of movie fame more commonly known by the stage name Benji. Annie was the sweetest, most loving, trusting, most eager to please dog that I had ever known. For many years she was actually my best friend, and I could not have asked for a better friend. All of my free time was spent with her, hiking, swimming, chasing balls (me throwing, her chasing), or just lying together on the couch. Through it all she stood by my side, smiling eagerly and lovingly at me with her panting mouth and bright brown eyes, encouraging my closed heart to open up, at least if just for that moment.
I saw a bumper sticker the other day that read "I want to be the person that my dog thinks I am." Implicit in this statement is the recognition of a dog's capacity to feel and demonstrate something that approaches unconditional love. The unconditional love that Annie showed to me was truly a stabilizing force during that uncertain period of my life. Annie has been gone for more than a year now but I often get teary eyed thinking about her. I will always be grateful to God for creating a creature that was capable of such natural generosity.
I had forgotten where I was for a moment, mainly because I was still not so silently cursing the taxi driver who had just made a U-Turn directly in front of me, nearly causing me to broadside him and his unsuspecting passenger. (On a side note, I wonder if anyone else ever thinks about intentionally ramming other drivers when they do stupid things like that? I am not talking about actually accelerating into them, but more like just not slamming on my brakes to avoid hitting them. I have that reaction all the time but never act on it. I usually end up just cussing them, then getting frustrated with myself for not being more loving and tolerant. Crazy isn't it?)
Anyway, when the cloud of craziness was lifted I saw where I was. "Ahh," I thought, "that is where I taught Annie to retrieve tennis balls." Love and tolerance returned to me and I smiled. Dogs generally have that affect on me.
My time living at that apartment complex was strange and depressing for me, for reasons that I do not need to go into here. Suffice it to say that I was a full-time law student who would rather have been teaching history, oppressed by the wild antics of an abusive alcoholic wife whom I no longer recognized. What I remember as the bright side of that period was that I was able to live with two great dogs, both of whom have since passed on to a place where chewing on furniture and eating out of trash cans is unquestionably acceptable behavior.
Annie was a long-haired tan dog that closely resembled Higgins, the dog of movie fame more commonly known by the stage name Benji. Annie was the sweetest, most loving, trusting, most eager to please dog that I had ever known. For many years she was actually my best friend, and I could not have asked for a better friend. All of my free time was spent with her, hiking, swimming, chasing balls (me throwing, her chasing), or just lying together on the couch. Through it all she stood by my side, smiling eagerly and lovingly at me with her panting mouth and bright brown eyes, encouraging my closed heart to open up, at least if just for that moment.
I saw a bumper sticker the other day that read "I want to be the person that my dog thinks I am." Implicit in this statement is the recognition of a dog's capacity to feel and demonstrate something that approaches unconditional love. The unconditional love that Annie showed to me was truly a stabilizing force during that uncertain period of my life. Annie has been gone for more than a year now but I often get teary eyed thinking about her. I will always be grateful to God for creating a creature that was capable of such natural generosity.
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