When I was around 12 and fashion was centermost in my life, my mother took me clothes shopping. She was of the lower working class, a bookkeeper, and saved fastidiously for our upcoming shopping spree. One hundred dollars, at the time, was an enormous and ridiculously generous sum to lavish on this daughter. I remember at the end of what seemed like a lifetime of trying on, rejecting and accepting various matching outfits, I turned to her and said, “Is that all?” My mother died early, 31 years ago, and I still hear my obnoxious pre-teen voice asking her that utterly disrespectful question, a clear indication of my complete lack of appreciation for her life and, what I later realized, her gargantuan efforts.
Now on to dogs. Aside from their longing, innocent eyes, and slobbery kisses, their unconditional love oftentimes surprises and shocks us, as does their appreciation and gratitude when we feed them, walk them, and give them an occasional treat. We love them so much because they teach us that showing appreciation is a spontaneous and instinctual act and brings delight and happiness to both the animal and its owner. (It also intensifies our love and consequent “gifts” we bestow on them, not a bad deal at all.)
I now love showing appreciation. Perhaps I am making up for that horrible shopping spree day of my youth, but I don’t think so. It simply feels good to appreciate. Some years ago, a colleague of mine was given the mission to help resolve a threatening situation. Since this was in a foreign country and he spoke not one lick of the language, his task seemed impossible. However, the one word he could muster and master and that he spoke with abandon was, “thank you.” This phrase, one of the first we learn as toddlers, transformed a frictional situation into one of harmony and respect.
Now when I find myself feeling negative and wanting to complain, I instead think about the multitude of reasons to say thank you, whether it is to my husband, my son, my dog, my plants for not dying on me, and even the air that I am entitled to breathe every day. Then, like my dog, and like the adult person I have become, I can appreciate the simplest of moments, wag my invisible tail (it must be there somewhere hidden from view) and smile at my uncomplaining life.
Arlaana's Lane 