Lily and the Octopus

by Steven Rowley

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.

“It’s natural, as our loved ones age, to start grieving their loss. Even before we lose them.”

Because dogs live in the present. Because dogs don’t hold grudges. Because dogs let go of all of their anger daily, hourly, and never let it fester. They absolve and forgive with each passing minute. Every turn of a corner is the opportunity for a clean slate. Every bounce of a ball brings joy and the promise of a fresh chase.

“If you spend your entire life trying to cheat death, there’s no time left over to embrace life.”

“Because sometimes it’s nice to have memories. Don’t you have any favorite memories?” Lily thinks about this. “All of my memories are my favorite memories.” I’m amazed by this. “Even the bad ones?” “Dogs don’t remember bad memories.” Envious, I scratch her on the velvet part of her chest. What an incredible way to live.

Dogs, on the other hand . . . dogs have pure souls. Look at me.” I grab her chin and look straight into her eyes. “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.

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