Sunday morning at the Casa; we’re back in the saddle, but don’t want to get back in the rut. Dad’s grandfather was a wise man who’s favorite saying was “a rut is simply a grave with both ends knocked out”; even after the incredible things that we experienced last week out west, it is soooo easy to fall back into the cycle of work, worry, rinse and repeat.
But, you might say, “Charlie, you don’t work!”, which would be true as I’m the Queen, but I carry a heavier load. I’m an empathetic dog, which is both a burden and a gift; a burden as I’m sometimes acutely aware of other’s anxieties although unable to affect the outcome, but also a gift, as I now know my real calling. I now have a ministry of sorts, not the type where I pontificate from a pulpit and then the first in line for potluck afterwards, but a different sort; a dog with a blog, a message that we all matter and we all make a difference.
When dad and Zach found me, it was during a news cycle that seemed to be featuring an inordinate amount of abuse stories, the kind where they love to draw you into the story and get us emotionally involved to gain “traffic” for their particular advertisers.
I do believe that we should be aware of what evil that men are capable of, but the fallacy of these stories is that they ultimately leave us depressed and unfulfilled, as they offer no solutions or resolution; I resolved to use the story of the crate to make a difference and focus instead on the good life I now lead.
Although the details of my negative origins are necessary to provide contrast, I refuse to let them define who I am today. Like me, you may be an abuse survivor, a recovering addict, or have depressive personality. We may be white or black, terrier or hound, purebred or mutt, white collar or blue, in the end, none of this matters;
What matters is how I proceed from this day forward.
What I do, or have done, or even have had done to me, doesn’t define who I am; from the crate to the Casa, from the guttermost to the uttermost, I’ve been transformed from the emaciated mutt I was to the spoiled bed hog, the queen of the covers if you will, I am today.
But I can’t stop here, or my present situation will become a rut, or even worse, simply a new crate. I have to keep moving forward, exploring new territory, as if I’m not always green and growing, I’ll slowly ripen and rot.
Thus sayeth the Charles.