Welcome To My Blog

While I’m working on another project, my dog Lucy has taken over the blog. I should be back blogging a few times next week. Until then, I’m hoping you and your dogs will enjoy Lucy’s perspective on life.

I can tell by the way Don puts on his socks whether or not he is getting ready for work or whether we are going for a walk. His head is down when he’s getting ready to write. His head is up when we are going for a walk. That’s how you know. I lay in bed until he puts on his socks. From the time he gets up in the morning to the time he puts on his socks can take half an hour, which is fine with me. I sleep late. I roll over on my back and put my paws in the air and feel the wind from the ceiling fan against my belly. I love my belly. I love my body when I know it’s there. I don’t always know it’s there. Sometimes when people pet my hind end I remember I have a body but other than that I don’t think about it, unless of course there is wind across my belly from the ceiling fan. I love my belly because it’s where the air touches me, and where Don pats me. I love my belly because it feels so good to have a belly. I love my belly because I didn’t make it, have nothing to do with it, and yet I got it for free and didn’t have to earn it. I don’t even feel grateful for my belly because my belly was a gift and it was free and whoever gave it to me just wants me to enjoy it and not feel obligated about having it. I get to connect with the things I love through my belly, through the blond hairs on my belly. I feel the same about my ears.

Here are the things that matter to me most: Don, other people, using the bathroom, swimming at the park, swimming at the river, playing in the house, playing outside, food, chasing cats and squirrels and other dogs. My body isn’t on that list but without my body I can’t do all the things I love. I’m not my body. My body is what I live in but it isn’t me. My body is just the tent I come back inside of when somebody pets my hind end or when I need to see where the squirrel went in the tree.

When I was younger, people liked me more. I couldn’t go on a walk without people pulling their cars over to pet me. I love people so I didn’t mind, but after a while Don took me mostly down backstreets so I could get some exercise. As I got bigger, people didn’t stop as much, but I didn’t notice. That’s one of the differences between people and dogs, you know. People think they are their bodies, that they are how they look, and they get sad when they don’t get noticed as much, but they aren’t their bodies, they are something else. People have to have categories and definitions for things so they make things up, they pretend they are their bodies or they are their personalities, but really they are something else that doesn’t have an explanation. Dog’s understand this very well because we understand just what we are supposed to understand and nothing more.

People think Dog’s believe lies and that makes us cute, but the truth is people believe more lies than dogs. But the lies people believe don’t make them cute. They are cute without the lies. They were cuter before the lies got told and before they believed the lies. Dogs don’t cover up their bodies because dogs don’t know they have bodies at all, unless somebody pets their hind end.

I love my body. I love when Don pats my belly, or when he gets down on the floor and tackles me with his head. I love tackling his head with my paws, or when he takes my legs out like a cow and I bite his arms and whip around and pin him to the floor. The only thing we are really given a body for is as a way to connect with other people and for swimming. It’s how we touch, or tell people we are smiling, or tell people we are crying,  or parallel the connecting of our souls. It’s a sad thing people know they have bodies. It’s a sad thing they believe they are their bodies. It’s a sad lie.