February 13, 2012
Every morning without fail, she’s in the kitchen, waiting. I’ll make my way down in the morning, get Kari’s coffee and my coffee started (no, we do not drink the same), get breakfast going and in a few seconds, I hear Crozby making her way into the kitchen. She pulls in like it’s a drive-thru simply waiting, expecting something. And, without fail, I’ll toss her a piece of ham, a chunk of toast, leftover pizza, stuff going bad for humans, but aged to perfection for the dog. Every day, every meal, anytime I happen to be in the kitchen she’ll be there. This morning, making breakfast I thought to myself, she’s had enough. We’re (I’m) way too loose on the tossing thing, perfectly good food will be peeled off and shared with an animal that rarely does anything but sleep and consume – then deposit the empties in the yard.
Why do this?
Then I thought to myself, what if God thought that towards me? What if He looked at me as I looked at an animal that I have some affection for and considered cutting off the blessings. “Owen’s had enough blessings for the day, he chews through them too much and he’s asking for more, everyday”. Or what if God thought: “Every morning I lift the sun over him, every night, I let him sleep”, “today, there’ll be none of this for Owen, he’s had enough sun, enough moonlight, let’s pull back on the love and food, no breath, no hope.” How I take the littlest things that are present and promised everyday – everyday of my life. Simplest things that I don’t give a second thought to, the fact the sun will return tomorrow, the fact that winter will give way to spring, that I have a fridge, with leftovers which I can share with a dog, who is fat.