"Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens . . ." Um okay. Start over.
Ahem . . .
It's the little things that make life meaningful, so "they" say. The prophets. The saints. Some of the not-so-saintly. And I think that's true. I think it. But rarely live that notion out. Last night while I was watching Boston Legal reruns on TV (7 -11 PM Tuesdays and Wednesdays on ION), Kooper was sitting on the floor in front of me. Staring at me. Whining. I tried the usual. Took him outside for a pee. Gave him a dog biscuit. Moved Zelda off the couch so that he could climb up into his usual couch spot. None of that worked. He sat there still. Staring. Whining. And it was getting to the good part of Boston Legal near the end when James Spader gets up in front of the jury and tears into the neoconservative preacher or business person or politician or other conservative something or other. So Kooper's whining just had to stop! I needed to find a remedy.
I got down on the floor next to him. And he started to play and nuzzle and lick and paw. That's all he wanted. Just that little thing. To be close. And in playing and nuzzling and pawing back (I passed on the licking), I forgot all about James Spader's monologue and the other things that I build up into being bigger than they really are. Suddenly the bigger things didn't matter anymore. And I just was. With Kooper. On the rug.
Subscribe Now: Feed Icon
About Me
- Mark Gorman
- I was born in Williamsport, Pennsylvania, along the banks of the Susquehanna River, in the valley made up by Bald Eagle Mountain to the south, and gentle hills and valleys to the north. That place that sheltered me, gave me food and friends, and both physical and spiritual nourishment for 18 years. That is the space where I was physically and emotionally formed. Ever since growing up there . . . because of growing up there . . . I have been inexorably linked to nature . . . to the earth and to all life.