DOG IS GOD SPELLED BACKWARDS

I am a very philosophical dog. I suppose that comes from hanging around with my person, Val, who is on a spiritual journey. However, Val and I have very different approaches to the same destination. Every day Val does what he calls God-bathing, which is how he describes contemplation. I, on the other hand, sun-bathe...it requires much less effort. I don't understand why humans have to complicate everything.

Twice a day Val goes to his chapel, chants his sacred word, and disappears into some inner space that provides him comfort. I, quite comfortably and at random times, lay in the sun. "Well, Tali, that's very nice, but what do you do on cloudy days?" you might ask. What a silly question! The sun is always there, whether you can see it or not.

Val developed his belief system by studying the great mystics of all ages and distilling their wisdom. I developed mine by smelling things. What my nose has taught me is that everything and everyone is totally unique. No two people smell the same, nor do any two animals, or plants, or even rocks. So, did all that uniqueness come from something or nothing? The answer is obvious to me.

Then, of course, there is the philosophical debate about being different versus conforming; this is a big issue in our home where one of us is gay and the other is a bit gender-confused. Since each and every part of creation is unique, why shouldn't we respect the uniqueness of others?

Death is another big issue in our home. I was the first to lose a loved one. I gave birth to a little girl puppy we named Amulet. I was blessed to have her for almost a day. I knew from the moment I held her that something was wrong, but it was only a mother's knowing and no one else understood the problem. So I packed a lifetime of loving into that day; and love is the bridge between life and death, and love never dies.

Then Val lost his husband, Peter, in a car accident. Val's grief was no greater than mine, but he has had a harder time finding peace. He longs for the past, where I am content with the love I still have for Amulet. You see, I love her as much now as I did then. And when I sun-bathe I sense her presence in the hidden light.

Now this is not to say I didn't grieve my loss. I didn't eat for a week, I whimpered in the sun and I howled at the moon. I still long to lick her. But that experience of grief has given me the gift of compassion and now my capacity to love is greater than it once was. And love is the thing that matters most.

Did I mention that I still smell the uniqueness of Amulet and Peter? I never forget a smell...

CONFIDENCE IS SEXY

Now, I know that some people think I'm a bit stuck-up. But, the truth is, I'm simply very confident. My mother once said to me, "Tali, there's a reason they call us bitches." And she was right. In my world, you just can't let them see your paws sweat, or you're flat on your back with your belly exposed, having to grin submissively, and that's just not my style.

This is not to say that I don't have a soft side. My person, Val, taught me that compassion is the most important thing in this world, and I do try and live that truth. For instance--even though it is every other dog's inclination to lick my ears adoringly--when I come snout to snout with a dog who is suffering, I don't hesitate to lick their ears instead. Like when Val takes me to the humane society to visit animals who are scared and lonely, or when he took me to the Best Friends Animal Sanctuary down in Utah, well, I did a lot of ear-licking.

So, I suppose now that's cleared up, you won't think less of me when I say, "I'm sure it was your pleasure to visit me again."