Ringo cuddling with me, a #tbt from 2016

When we were looking for another dog after we lost Dexter, one of my wishes was that he be a cuddler. I was imagining a dog like Dexter, who could never be close enough to me, who would circle around and when he finally landed, he wasn’t just next to me, but part of him was on top of me — and I loved it. I still miss having him curled up next to me at night while we slept.

Ringo Blue isn’t in general a cuddly dog. He’d rather be moving, and when he does sleep at night, he doesn’t like to be bothered, will wake with a growl if you bump him. And yet, he does cuddle with me under certain conditions, specifically on the couch while I’m watching TV, usually at night. He doesn’t really ever cuddle with Eric and absolutely never with Sam, just me.

Last night, he crawled up into my lap while I was watching TV. He was positioned just about how he is in the above picture, which is his favorite way to cuddle — back end somewhere just above my knees and head resting right about where my heart is. He was there about 10 minutes when I decided I was finished watching. Typically, I’d get up and go get my phone, check in for a bit before I brushed my teeth and got in bed to read. By this time of night, Ringo has usually already asked to be put to bed, but last night he was just too cozy to get up.

I felt the urge to ask him to move, get up and get my phone and get on with it, but instead I stayed. I thought about how I’d give anything to see Obi and Dexter again, to sit quietly with them, doing nothing but being together. I reminded myself that some day Ringo won’t be here anymore, and I know on that day, I’d look back on a time like this and tell myself, “just stay, don’t move, be here.” So I stayed.

To practice gratitude, we often skip past joy. We list the things we are grateful for with a sort of duty, a sense of obligation — we give thanks, look for ways to return the kindness or to earn it. Appreciation is something we offer, extend out, give away. Last night, I spent some time sinking into the joy I was receiving, opening to it, letting myself notice it, allowing myself to fully experience it. I embodied my gratitude by feeling my joy.

From this morning’s walk, image by Eric

1. Truth: I’m on day two of cleaning and organizing my office. Today I found two canisters of pepper spray Eric put in my Christmas stocking a few years ago that have never been opened (backstory: Eric and the dogs got attacked by a dog running loose in our neighborhood, Sam put himself in between Eric and Ringo and the other dog, got hurt, and Eric wanted me to start carrying something that might help me if I got in a similar situation — problem is all I can imagine is getting out the pepper spray and using it, accidentally hitting myself or one of my dogs, or that I would hit whatever was attacking us and it would just make them mad, make the situation worse, so I don’t really want to use it), FIVE different coffee/tea mugs that I’ve been given as gifts or gifted myself but never made it to the kitchen cabinet so they could actually be used, a box of books I meant to donate to a local middle school THREE years ago, and a whole box of knick knacks and pictures and magnets and post it notes and other various office supplies from my CSU office. Blergh…

2. Truth: I hate this part of repacking, reorganizing, remodeling. You feel okay about the progress you’ve made, but the deeper you get into it, the deeper it seems to go, until it starts to feel like you’ll never ever finish. I also start getting sloppy and tired and have to work really hard to not start throwing things in boxes and hiding them in closets or the garage (which is where all this nonsense started) or convincing myself to just throw it all away.

3. Truth: Now I’m going to take a break. I’m going to leave this project as it is for now, start to cook some good food and look forward to relaxing and eating it, hanging out with some friends, slowing down for another day.

One wish: Wherever we are in the process, may we remember to pace ourselves, to take breaks and rest when we need to, to appreciate the preciousness of both making space and letting go.