Doggie Zen

My dog has exactly the right idea.  Whatever she's doing, she does with her full attention, whether it's lying on the floor in the hallway or going outside to chase squirrels.  You never see her halfway: kinda relaxed or kinda watching the squirrels.  Her attention is fully on, and in, the moment.  Which means, true to her name*, she is never without joy, whether she has a hour to play in the back garden while I sit and read, or only a few minutes as I take her downstairs to pee.  An hour, a minute, it's all the same to her--because it's all the same to her.  She takes full advantage of every moment to sniff, to look, to be.  And then, she's coming back inside, as satisfied (nearly) with the momentary break from indoors as she is with a more extended walk.  Okay, so she tugs at the bottom of the stairs, just to make sure I'm serious, but then she is bounding back up, as cheerful and engaged in the moment as she was when we went down.  She does not worry from one minute to the next what the next minute will bring because there is so much to notice now.  And then, when she relaxes, she relaxes utterly, again, wholly absorbed in being relaxed, even though, if she hears something to bark at**, she will be up in an instant.  You'd never know it to look at her though.  She is the picture of moment to moment bliss.  And whenever she sees me, even if it's only been minutes since I last petted her, there she is, eager for attention, ready to play or to snuggle.  And she smells nice, like all the hugs you've ever had.

I wish I were a dog.

*Joy, not Dragon Baby, although she is Dragon Baby, too.  And Kiddo.  And Sweetie.  And Oh-You're-The-Best-Dog-In-The-Whole-World-Aren't-You?
**Like the door buzzer.   Or the Soda Stream.  Or the hairdryer.  Or somebody she hears in the stairwell.  Or...