Poochie affections

My pooch is celebrating his birthday. So, he's on my mind a lot these days. He's nine and this past year we've experienced a couple of narrow misses with a hematoma thought to be something more drastic and then a lump on his tail, also dismissed and benign.

I'm more aware than ever that the downside of love is loss, but what's the option? There is none. We love. And in the process we learn to be awake and aware of how much we enjoy the other each day.

I love this noble and gentlemanly dog more and more. I love that his nights includes about a half an hour at the foot of our bed, leaning against my leg (if I get there first). There's deep gratitude in our shared pursuits; rough housing, walks, car rides, gardening, dinner.

Yesterday, a kind older man at church saw me praying with a friend and asked if I could pray for him. I listened to his story of coming out of homelessness recently. His prayer request, though, was for Max, his three year old cat. Even with his heavy beard, I could see his chin quiver as his eyes welled. And of course, we prayed. We prayed that Max would heal and be ok and that they'd be reunited when he got a permanent home. As he and his friend Mary Margaret walked away, he turned around to exact a promise that I'd keep praying.

Of course, I will. Because I understand that often love has furry feet.