Solid Air

The way my dogs are clinging to me I’m beginning to wonder if they know something I don't. Are they sensing some impending doom, or have they finally fallen under the weighty realization that I’m a wonderful owner and they want nothing more than to cling to me like a laundry dryer sheet on a pair of sweatpants.

Maybe my estranged soon-to-be ex is once again lumbering around the lawn at night, and it’s putting the dogs on edge. Or, maybe my dad, who has now logged three and a half months on the other side, is about to make his ghostly debut from beyond. Knowing my father as I do though, instead of hovering softly at the end of my bed as a semi transparent silhouette, he will descend into my bedroom like the space shuttle upon reentry. And upon landing hard at the foot of my bed, he will flash his sorely missed smile in my direction; the one he does not only with a broad grin but with eyes that sparkle with love.

On the other hand, maybe my boxer’s clingy behavior has little to do with what’s out there, and more to do with what’s in here. Especially, considering the fact that her stomach woke me out of a sound sleep the other night with its rambunctious swishing sounds; a clear indicator that she might be feeling a bit off as of late. If so, she may not want to venture far from the one who is able to turn the knobs that allow parts of the wall to suddenly detach from the rest of the wall allowing her access to the outside. I have to imagine that must be how doors appear to a dog, as no more than the part of the wall that moves. I also wonder what dogs think of windows. My boxer often body slams into the glass doors in this house. Does she think the glass is merely a stubborn section of invisible air that needs to be strong armed out of the way? This of course, is the same dog that runs into the glass coffee tables sitting in my living room. Upon watching her smack her head for the umpteenth time, all I can figure, is that she can’t quite distinguish the glass from the rest of the room. My English setter, on the other hand, often forgets to account for the full length of his snout. When turning his head while standing where the corner of the wall sticks out, he routinely smacks his nose in the process. From all outward appearances it seems as though he simply forgot that half of his head consists of a five inch snout.

Speaking of windows and animals, I often have birds that fly into the windows of my house. We watch in horror as the mass of feathers spirals down onto the ground after ramming hard into the glass. If the bird does manage to survive, surely they are left to wonder what the heck just happened. Or do they just conclude that life is, at best, downright dicey at times? On that note, imagine the thoughts racing through the mind of a field mouse while it dangles precariously from the talons of a hawk.

My boxer has now settled herself at my feet so that I am no longer able to roll my chair into my normal writing position under the desk. Fortunately for her, I can type with outstretched arms. Maybe I wonder what my animals, and other animals are thinking, solely to take my focus off of my own thoughts. Not that my thoughts are bad, but I do tire of them. When I turn my focus onto the startling snorts that (just now), erupted from my boxer, I am no longer focused on the unsavory aspects of my life. Suffice it to say, I need no distraction when my thoughts are rested comfortably on the aspects of my life that I do enjoy. But when I’m in a rut, thoughts of my dogs, like thoughts of my children, bring my focus back into alignment, and back to a better place.

Sane