Lily and the Octopus

by Steven Rowley

“Today me will live in the moment, unless it’s unpleasant, in which case me will eat a cookie.”

I, too, am hiding in plain sight. I am walking through life invisible, skulking like a failure, hoping few people notice me.

I have to be better about living in the not knowing.

And then on the very last night of my twenties, when I held my new puppy in my arms, I broke down in tears. Because I had fallen in love. Not somewhat in love. Not partly in love. Not in a limited amount. I fell fully in love with a creature I had known for all of nine hours.

Even on my best days, I always wished life excited me as much as it excited her.

Someone once said give a dog food and shelter and treats and they think you are a god, but give a cat the same and they think they are the god.

I don’t know where the rage first takes root—my heart, my gut, my brain, my soul—but it has been metastasizing over the four days since the octopus first came calling.

To focus, I think of how dogs are witnesses. How they are present for our most private moments, how they are there when we think of ourselves as alone. They witness our quarrels, our tears, our struggles, our fears, and all of our secret behaviors that we have to hide from our fellow humans. They witness without judgment.

“But most of all, I am thankful for Lily, who, since she entered my life, has taught me everything I know about patience and kindness and meeting adversity with quiet dignity and grace. No one makes me laugh harder, or want to hug them tighter. You have truly lived up to the promise of man’s best friend.”

“Dogs are always good and full of selfless love. They are undiluted vessels of joy who never, ever deserve anything bad that happens to them.

He continues about how what we have can be taken from us. Even what we have that is special. And when it is taken, we will be tested.

A heart is judged not by how much you love, but by how much you are loved by others.