spirit flows thru -- Alison Rittger's spiritual reflections on finding the holy in the daily
PictureFoxie loves his toy cow!
"​I giggled all the way to the food bowl. So they are calling this year "The Year of the Dog"? How is this year any different from last year or the one before that or so on? From the day my one-and-only chose me at Animal Control in San Francisco, I have been living la vida perro!

Imagine being admired for pooing and peeing! For eating or not eating! For sleeping or not sleeping. For playing with the stuffed cow that has 16 squeakers in it and tearing out all its innards to the unstinting approval of all around you! And then your one-and-only vacuums up the mess without a complaint. If you were to glance up from where you hunker under the coffee table, you would see a smile of adoration. Indeed, la vida perro!
Stand at the door and voila it opens. Run to the back door and pretty soon it too will open. Write without punctuation and nobody scolds, not even a former English teacher who has set aside the book of do and don’t because I am who I am! This is the miracle of la vida perro!

Wake up at 3a.m. and shake. Someone hears and gets out of bed to take me outside and once I have done what is natural after hours of sleeping takes me into bed and cuddles despite the fact that I am shedding. And by 6a.m. if it fits my schedule, my one-and-only invites me to don my blue harness to go in the car for an early coffee run after which I will nose around the empty lot abutting the coffee shop, sniffing while the sun comes up. I call this la vida perro!

Indeed, living in Los Osos, I meet so many dogs, big and small. They are walked singly or in droves. Their walkers always take care to avoid me when our paths cross because – as my one-and-only tells them “Foxie is unpredictable.” She says this while stationing herself in my path and tightening my leash. This cautionary behavior is a good thing because I do not like other animals, or at least I think I don’t, although I do remember the year I stayed two weeks at a kennel and made friends with another small dog. Whenever my one and only called from Ashland to check up on me, the folks at Happy Tails reported my good behavior and happiness. What does that say about me? Of course, I avoid the Rottweilers from across the street and won’t go near leapy dogs. I have lunged at tiny dogs, so who’s to say I can be trusted. Always, all is forgiven. More evidence that many of us four-legged creatures celebrate the Year of the Dog, every year. I celebrate the dogs that avoid me as well as the dogs who get close and we wag our tails. I love where I live and I love that I live la vida perro!

Foxie Now Boxie?


PictureBoxie Foxie isn't being fed as much
My one and only’s oldest son, who is staying at our house, sometimes calls me Boxie because I look puffy to him, and he attributes this look to my being overfed.   My one and only told him I am Chihuahua/Skipperkee mix and that is the reason for my shape. Boxie is not a compliment the way he says it. His opinion must matter because within days of his mispronouncing my name, my complement of string cheese disappeared and other treats went away. I sense a connection between Boxie instead of Foxie and the amount and kind of food my one and only now allows me. Not only is less food in my dish less often; but once emptied, the bowl won’t refill within minutes. New dog food cans are labeled “Weight Management” and vegan.

When my one and only first noticed that my harness didn’t fit, she said it must have shrunk in the wash. There was tightness around my chest, but I could still breathe and walk. Then one day a friend of ours who likes me very much commented on my girth.  “Where is Foxie’s waist?” she asked. Alas, my one and only could not locate that indentation. I applaud my one and only for deep breathing instead of yapping at her friend for finding fault.

While the joy of string cheese has faded, the smell of peanut butter spread on a bagel still energizes me. Just last week, my one and only would have shared almost half. Now, I am lucky, if a bagel edge with a lick of peanut butter lands near me no matter what manner of begging I employ.

Some might try to connect changes in my diet to my habit of scrounging the carpet for dropped food, but it is not a new habit. I am just better at it. Recently, my one and only was on the couch binge-watching “Orange is the New Black” while she nibbled on her allotment of seven chocolate covered frozen Almond Dream Bites, a vegan substitute for ice cream, when three chocolate covered Bites fell onto the carpet. I snuffled up two of them as my one and only leaped at me and tried to pry open my mouth, all the while shrieking, “Don’t do it, don’t do it.”

Did she think I would keel over from eating the thin chocolate shell on the dream bite? If the third one hasn’t melted and isn’t surrounded by ants, I will eat it when I find it. Just to say, scrounging for food is not a new practice, and no one need think I am starving because my one and only has me on a diet. Though adorable at any size, I’m still an animal.

PictureFoxie listens to his one and only's talk
Several months have passed since I mused in this space about speaking from the UU pulpit in San Luis Obispo. Instead of hearing me, the congregation must have been happy to hear my one and only talk about five of her spiritual practices. Of course I was impressed, even laughed a little in some places mostly when she mentioned the Golden State Warriors. Here is a lot of that July 16 talk. We hope you like it... or some of it.

Between the dawn of the idea of Spiritual Practices that make me happy and the actual time scheduled for this talk, I have experienced my pettiness, impatience, negativity, and some mean-spiritedness. I realize any talk about spiritual practices that pretends to transcend or ignore these realities is just plain dishonest.  Thus aware of the all-too human aspects of myself, I have discarded five earlier versions of this talk about spiritual practices and their affect on me, and commited to abiding by the wisdom of Thich Nhat Hanh, the Vietnamese Buddhist teacher and peace activist. May his words shape my words. “Truth is found in life and not merely in conceptual knowledge. Be ready to learn throughout your entire life and to observe reality in yourself and in the world at all times.”

Before launching into practice number one, I offer this definition of spirituality from "Spirituality for Dummies, second edition." I could have gone to Google or Wikipedia but could have uncovered more concepts than Thich Nhat Hanh might have liked. "Spirituality for Dummies" says that we are already spiritual beings, even if we think we are limited and small. In fact, we’re greater and more powerful than we ever imagined. A light exists inside of us, and it is the same light in everyone we know and will ever know in the future. 

If I settle for a definition of spirituality that assures me I am good as I am because a light exists inside of me, why bother with spiritual practices?  I practice not to become perfect, but because happiness results. 

Spiritual practice number one. I sit in stillness 20 to 30 minutes everyday and, when possible more than once. Some call this sitting - meditation. In the silence, I meet the causes and conditions that have made me who I am. And I am happy because in stillness I can’t help but recognize what in me I am responsible for, so much of which is familiar by this time. As a result, I have more control over how I behave when my buttons get pushed in the course of a day. The stillness of sitting translates to skillful pauses, during which I can choose to respond rather than react.

Here’s an example of recognizing the rise of reactivity and not acting on it. When Maureen and I met for the first time in the church library to plan this service, Maureen began to unload books from her totebag. There were quite a few of them and they appeared to have been used often. My reaction was an immediate STOP and a strong NO WAY. Ouch! Familiar button pushed. Within minutes, I recognized what lurked behind my reaction. "Hello, child me afraid to be excluded." Such a familiar fear! Old experiences of competition. I imagined Maureen could see me stiffen and my irritation require an explanation. So I said, “Maureen, I’m about to lead with my defenses.” Maybe I even made fists. The three and a half hours we then spent that Saturday planning our service felt spiritual, so much flow, side by side.

I think it’s only fair to own up to what happens when I don’t catch a reaction fast enough to do or say something skillful and kind. There was a moment two weeks ago when I had a chance to tell Lora, our summer minister, that I appreciated her being here, but I didn’t tell her. What burst out instead was a whiny complaint, something to the effect that I was speaking in two weeks and she had taken the edge off my topic by defining spiritual practice.  Fear was behind that outburst. I expect that by today, I will have apologized and reassured her that she is doing just fine. And I did that last Sunday despite feeling annoyed that she ended her talk quoting the Buddha and that the service was 15 minutes too long.

Spiritual practice number two is rooted in Gratitude. I am grateful to those of you who are here. I feel respectful and perhaps a little resentful of those who stayed away. Though I have already heard many valid reasons for absence. But the practice of Gratitude takes precedence over thinking the worst of others or of myself. Buddhist teacher Jack Kornfield said that in some Buddhist traditions, there’s a prayer in which one requests the universe to bring challenges and obstacles “May I be given the appropriate difficulties so that my heart can truly open with compassion.” 

Spiritual practice number three is consciously seeking others with whom to share silence. If you read News and Notes, you know I am here Mondays at 4 p.m. to meditate with anyone who wants to do that too. My purpose is to sit in silence with others, whose reasons for sitting are not known to me. During this time I experience a connection like the one at the end of each service when we take hands. We may not even know the person next to us whose hands we grasp in friendship and in silence. So on Mondays, with closed eyes, uncrossed legs, feet on the floor, hands resting comfortably, I’m not trying to convince anyone to be a Buddhist. I want to share stillness and practice being aware of the space within that can hold thoughts and feelings, which once noticed, can then be let go. When that happens, I am able to be present, not getting attached and skidding off into the past or planning for the future.

Spiritual practice number 4 is about learning. Because I do love to study Buddhism, I listen to teachers whose recorded talks are available as podcasts on such websites as Dharma Seed, often from Spirit Rock in Marin County, and from the Upaya Zen Center in Santa Fe, New Mexico. I will admit though that when it comes to recorded teacher talk, even before I can begin to absorb any wisdom, some buttons do get pushed. I can’t really listen to talks delivered in a monotone or by certain teachers (usually of the younger sort) who seed their podcasts with the word “like.” “You know the Buddha like he sat under the Bodhi tree and like Mara, you know the bad guy like came down and like he tortured Buddha… this definitely pushes my buttons, and I hit the off button pretty fast.

There is one teacher I dearly love to listen to. He is Stephen Batchelor, and he calls himself a secular or atheist Buddhist. For him the Buddha is a pragmatic philosopher and not an object of worship. He separates the Buddha’s teachings, his dharma, from philosophies prevailing in India at the time, like Brahminism and Jainism. One thing he said that impressed me as I began to plan this talk about spiritual practices, although. Lora pointed it out two weeks ago -- practice means bringing something into being and tending its growth like cultivating a garden. So someone who practices the piano can be said to be bringing a piece of music into being or bringing her own musical competence into being.

I practice to cultivate four attitudes of the heart that can be said to constitute love. They are the sublime attitudes of loving kindness, compassion, joy for the happiness of others and equanimity. In the Pali language, the first language in which the Buddha’s words were written, these four sublime attitudes are called the brahma viharas.
This may sound weird but when I watched the Golden State Warriors, I often thought of the team as a basketball version of the brahma viharas. Here was a team treating each other and the game with respect, playing with joy and selflessness. I thought of the brahma viharas, but the cliché, there’s no I in team works too.

Cliches and the impact of language bring me to spiritual practice number 5. Tinkering with language as a spiritual practice could be the result of many years of teaching and refining my teacher talk, always hoping for best outcomes. I have a desire to create space for others, so I have a vowel practice.  As a listener, the vowel I think is “O” rather than “I,” the ubiquitous first person pronoun, which so often pops into a listener’s mind. Here is an example: The First person says with excitement: I just got back from Italy yesterday. The one spoken to says: I was in Italy 15 years ago and on and on and on. Now imagine the same conversation substituting “O” for the listener’s “I.” First person: “I just got back from Italy.” Second person: “O or OH Wow. Room now for first person to continue or not or to ask: “Have you ever been there?” “O” is the vowel of tell me more or “please continue”, whereas “I” can highjack a conversation.  I like O as an alternative to I. I feel it makes space for the other.

The spiritual practices I have shared: sitting in stillness, learning through listening to engaging Buddhist podcasts, and being word aware aim at more openness, more curiosity, limiting unskillful choices rooted in the past. To live fully is to be free to think and act differently, and to respond more fully. There is nothing woo-woo in wanting to live as an open-hearted, open-minded human. Any practice that creates heart space (think inclusion) for others is a spiritual practice, don’t you think?

PictureFoxie gives his July talk some thought

It’s only March but my mind is already on my appearance as a guest lecturer at the San Luis Obispo UU in July. What to talk about doesn’t worry me. Because I have no divinity school degree, no one will expect this dog to do Bible quotes. My one and only says that in her experience, humanists and atheists don’t much like them. As for Christians, I have heard they will forgive me if I don’t go there.  How humanists and atheists would react if I did repeat a parable, I am less certain.

I don’t know if it is good or bad, but no ministerial training means no need to inspire a parishioner to become a better person. Also no uplifting the downtrodden either. Not studied in politics except for the cursing I hear from those around me, I won’t know enough to kick up political dust devils. By July, I don’t plan to have studied up on Unitarians or Universalists, so no tracing historic roots.

No matter what I finally choose to say, my one and only says my picture will serve as a backdrop for the talk. The man in the back of the church will project my image on the blank wall behind the chancel, and everyone will see me large. Before July we will decide between one profound shot and a series of pictures reflecting myriad aspects of my personality – asleep in several poses or confronting life from one or two standing positions. All in all, I am confident that for the 17 to 20 minutes I am allotted, what I have learned as a dog will be more than informative enough. If I falter or fall short, I can always turn to the pictures projected behind me and detail what was going through my mind at the moment my one and only took a particular picture.

I expect congregants in attendance that July day will not be put off by how my metaphoric choices stick close to the ground, paralleling my basic grass-roots experiences. I trust I won’t be less interesting for being nose to the ground. For example, dead worms and bird droppings are elixir for this dog. Who knew that?

Hurting someone’s feelings is one concern if I choose to go after cats the way I actually would if one crossed my path. Detailing that obvious aggression would not be an example of kind speech, and some in the congregation might take offense. Gossiping, or pointing paws at other animals will be a definite no-no.

Fortunately, my real expertise lies in the field of loving. No one familiar with domesticated canines would dare argue that a cared-for dog isn’t loyal and endlessly nonjudgmental. Given a good upbringing or, as in my case, a timely intervention, a dog is anyone’s best friend. And we can be trained in obedience. Well some dogs can. I will not dwell on the disappointment and shame my one and only suffered when we were ordered to leave the small- dog obedience training in San Francisco because I lunged at a child’s pant leg as he raced past me in the crowded room of small dogs off-leash and their families. But that is the past.

All in all, I look forward to my time on the chancel at the local UU because I think people will like looking at life through dog eyes. But if any minds change before July and I am disinvited or decide this speaking engagement isn’t for me, I can bow-wow out and allow my one and only to speak for me. 

PictureFoxiebeau naps before noon
Tomorrow is Valentines Day. Knowing I am loved unconditionally and loving my one and only in return, I am an expert on the subject of love. Here then, based on my experiences both giving and receiving, is a short list of three Sublime Love States. If you and your one and only already practice what I’m about to preach, you are expert love-givers and should serve as examples for your friends or anyone else who meets you.
The first of the Sublime Love States is the ability to forgive. I put forgive in first position because of the numerous mistakes I have made and the equally numerous times each mistake was mopped up without a shriek or slap from my one and only. Once I ran toward the new picket fence that surrounds the front yard. I had a cat in sight. My one and only had to smash through tall, wet grass to catch me. Because it was night and we were about to go to bed, she wore a robe and slippers. While my one and only is in the habit of placing me in the grass at night for dog purposes, she rarely has to chase me. That time with the cat, I know, was not to her liking. She scooped me up around my wet belly, my muddy paws streaking her robe. No yelling ensued, just a wipe down with a towel kept next to the front door for wet dog purposes.
The second Sublime Love States involves flexibility. To be flexible is to pause the meditation timer no matter how much or how little time has passed. I admit to interrupting many of my one and only’s meditation sessions to be fed or get seconds or even leap at the refrigerator for string cheese. She always gets up. She never yells. Actually, she laughs, knowing that when she glances at me eyeing her from a crouch position with my tail wagging hard, she will not be able to say “no” or “not now.” I imagine she is saying to herself, “Five minutes is fine.” Once when she was at the computer, deep in thoughtful composition, I barked loudly and fiercely at some goings on next door. Our neighbor was wheeling his trash barrels to the street, which seemed exciting at the time. My one and only interrupted her typing to calm me down and apologize to our neighbor.
I have adopted my third Sublime Love State from my one and only’s Buddhist practice. It is called equanimity, which means mental calmness, composure, and evenness of temper, especially in a difficult situation and appears in many numbered lists used by Shakyamuni Buddha, also known as Gautama Buddha, to teach because in those days no one wrote. Numbered lists helped everyone remember, even after penmanship came into play. I like equanimity as part of love because I can’t imagine my one and only always being happy and in the mood to pay attention to me or take me for a walk or chase after me when I bark loudly at stray sounds. She must owe her never-ending affection and attention to something other than happiness. I know that she is often sad and suffers from loneliness despite the love I bring to our lives. So I think she relies on equanimity to balance the negatives of her life in Los Osos with the positives. We might take a walk while she is crying or if she is coughing with long-lasting bronchitis. For these reasons, I like equanimity for my list.
Three Sublime Love States make a short list but are a start and might be useful as you think about how you and your one and only manage to love.

PictureHappy New Year from my one and only and me.
Since last I posted at the end of October, I’ve continued to review mistakes I recall my one and only making so as to figure out which ones could be termed fundamental, the one mistake that she thinks might be in the way of happiness. After all, I have an assistance dog medallion from Animal Care. In my capacity as such, I want to assist her in finding peace of mind. Here is what I have seen so far. One morning in the Ralph’s parking lot, I saw her exit the car on the driver’s side, go around the car to the passenger side and open the rear door of the car on that side to grab a paper bag. But the bag was on the driver’s side of the back seat, so she had to lean far in to pick it up. That was a mistake, but was it fundamental?
You might be confused. What happened to the orange Scion IQ we drove? When did it get back doors? I don’t remember if I told you that my one and only traded in the little car for a bright blue Honda Fit.  We live in Los Osos, and she goes to the UU church in San Luis Obispo and sometimes to theater and concerts there. From here to in and around SLO is about 20 miles. Suppose she has more than one friend over 50 years old who wants a ride to church or lunch or elsewhere.  Few people the same age as my one and only can fold up to occupy the back seat of an IQ. Once in San Francisco she did drive three Zen people to Tiburon. They did fold up and fit happily, but for nonfolders, the Fit is infinitely better.  My one and only wants to do her share in case she makes lots and lots of friends who want to go places with her. Ergo a roomier car. Clearly, this purchase was not a mistake, fundamental or otherwise, especially as it was motivated by generosity.
Since my last communication via Weebly, a horrid mistake became fact, and my one and only, almost all her friends and I dread the ceremony on January 20 that makes the mistake president of this country.  Of course we must rally our energy and vow to stand up and with people who most truly fear the mess of this man and his cohorts. My one and only vows to be open to the ugliness that is our national reality by listening to others without making them enemies. We believe everyone suffers. Pain could be a starting place. I hope I am not mistaken.
Meanwhile, my one and only goes about her business, which includes meditating. At such times I stretch out next to her for as long as seems reasonable to a dog with needs. Then I insinuate myself into her mudra and she has to pause the timer and pay attention. With great goodwill, she attends to me and then sits down again.
As my one and only’s only housemate, I overhear her on the phone going into detail about what is causing her pain. This year it has not just been the election that hurt her to her core. But I see healing in the near future, for I get the feeling she is beginning to acknowledge that the world, which looks one way from where she sits, may not look the same to someone else sitting somewhere else. Does that make sense?  It seems fundamental to me that people don’t see the same things, the same way. Especially when they are looking out different windows from different houses. If this insight brings my one and only peace of mind, may it be so.  
And finally, in the year that begins tonight, may my one and only and all beings know that they are radiant beings, through whom life is living itself. Happy New Year!!! And may you love a dog or cat or bird or iguana or pig, or chicken or cow……

PictureRead it and don't weep, Foxie says.
 My one and only kept asking me the same question one morning. “What is the fundamental mistake that is the root of my suffering?” Though it could have been, her question was not directed at the results of having followed a recipe for tofu scramble she found on the web site, The Buddhist Chef. We agreed the scramble appeared wetter than expected and would require a great deal of pouring liquid into the sink before it could be eaten.  Later that morning as we stretched out on the couch, she with an ice pack strapped onto her lower back, and I a comfortable lump on her midsection and chest, she repeated the question about a fundamental mistake and suffering.
She had been reading “Lion’s Roar” and the words of French Buddhist monk, Matthieu Ricard, made her wonder where she had gone wrong. It was his observation that genuine happiness is possible only after we figure out the fundamental mistake that is the root of our suffering. My one and only seemed to take his words as a challenge to explore her own relationship to happiness. Which these days has not been tip top. She assures me I am not at the heart of her unhappiness.
Although dogness limits my perspective, I have not seen any fundamental mistakes my one and only is making. At least none that should interfere with happiness. Quite the opposite. Her love for me continues as strong as when she first saw me at Animal Control in San Francisco four years ago. She will get up at 3 or any am and take me outside when needed. She slips a jacket over her nightie without complaining, steps into shoes at the front door kept there just in case. She will brush me if I leap around and want attention for something other than food. We even have three different brushes with stiff, stiffer and soft bristles. She walks me on the El Moro trail in either direction and sometimes we go up hills for a long distance or around several blocks. This we do at least four times a day. A real treat is the tour we make of the Ralph’s parking lot where I can go into brush and leaves or back up to a tree if need be. She pays attention to me whenever I want it; doesn’t yell or swear if an accident happens on one of her many rugs. I can’t imagine what else is troubling her, what other part of her life can be more important than the life we share, but for my part, I have no complaints about my one and only and can see no mistakes, fundamental or otherwise.
If I could be of any help to her other than just being this spectacular reddish brown creature and loving her, I would urge her to take to heart the words printed in blue on the dish towel that sometimes hangs near the sink in our kitchen: “Be the person your dog thinks you are!” I would want her to know that she is the person I think she is, and can't that be enough?  

PictureThe Fox ponders a hole in the yard.
When I saw the hole in the front yard, I rejoiced! We’ve struck oil! We can go to Ireland. There, I can write my blog in a pub like a pub where James Joyce wrote. Yes, I said, yes, yes, yes!

But no, the hole is the unearthed septic tank waiting to be pumped. Chris, who hooked us up to the sewer in stage three of the Los Osos sewer hook-up project told my one and only that Al, with the red pumping truck, is busy right now, but eventually he will pump us, and then Chris will return and fill the tank with dirt. He said he studied making gardens at Cal Poly and will gladly make us one, but not now; we will have to wait for him to hook up many sewers. Chris, his little yellow back hoe, and Mike.

Meanwhile, my one and only is practicing patience and gratitude. Out the front window are dirt and weeds we needn’t pull, so my one and only is happy in the backyard as often as possible. And though she loves what it looks like, she is not going to be as impulsive about beautifying the front yard as she was about having a beautiful backyard. She has vowed to wait for Chris to finish his sewer hook ups and promised him our garden. Maybe by January, the front yard can become a combination of drought resistant plants, stones, and wood – a front yard where I can romp about. Maybe a fence as well.

Despite our patience, while riding through town my one and only spied a sign “Succulents for Sale. She picked five big sticklers to be planted when the time comes. We were right to select drought resistant plants, because water usage is a big issue in this community. A week or so ago, my one and only was wondering if our water bill wasn’t high. Turns out she was on to something. The water lady called to say that one person should be using four units only. (Dogs don’t get any units.) She and I were up to 12 units on the last billing. Is she filling my water bowl too often? Or was it planting the garden and adding more water-drizzle hoses throughout that new garden?

My one and only says rural living is more complicated than being in a studio on the 14th floor of the Grand in Oakland. Of course, I am glad to be closer to the actual ground. Here I have weedy vacant lots to traipse through and the run of the El Moro trail, just one house away. Before daylight, I ride from Starbucks to the estuary and walk the boardwalk and the grounds of the Baywood Inn. My life has improved because the dog doctor sold us a pill good for three months of no fleas or ticks, making it is painless for me to romp in the brush. And by December, when the pill doesn’t work any more, fleas will be cold and leave dogs alone. And then it will be January, time for the new garden and another pill.

Fox Does Gratitude


PictureThe Fox needed a sign like the one on the walking path near our house. If fleas could read.
Because I have much to be grateful for, I am making a gratitude practice. I will start with fleas. The vet found five on me yesterday at the Los Osos Pet Hospital, which is just up the hill behind the Shell station on Los Osos Valley Road. (LOVR). This is a good thing because my one and only was in denial no matter how much scratching she saw me doing. Because no fleas nibbled on her, she assumed they did not nibble on me. Don’t ask.

I scratched myself raw in several places as night and day I pursued the creatures that had hopped out of high grasses we pushed through on our daily walks. My one and only lost so much sleep getting up in the night to brush me, hoping to stop the annoying sounds of me chewing on me. Finally, out of her desperation and self-interest, (two more causes for gratitude,) she made our appointment at the Pet Hospital.

Speaking of gratitude, my one and only was equally grateful to learn that the cause of our anguish was as simple as fleas. The doctor gave me a shot to treat the discomfort I had inflicted on myself and on my one and only through the sleep deprived nights of our last several months. And I got to eat a yummy nugget that will keep off fleas, ticks and parasites for three months. The vet said fleas are thick in Los Osos and that many dogs relocated from urban areas, like I am, suffer terribly. I don’t remember fleas on the 14th floor of the Grand in Oakland.

When we got home, my one and only took apart my crate and washed the cushions and blankets inside. The vet said fleas lay eggs in crates. When he asked my one and only when she had washed out the crate or its interior padding, she could not remember a recent time. I am grateful for her fast action once she got the message. She never meant to harm me by being inattentive. I am grateful that all the discomfort she has caused me was from ignorance and not ill will.

​In the face of all the neglect of which I have been a victim, I am grateful for my forgiving nature because it is not in my best interest to hold a grudge against my one and only. She loves me even though she doesn’t know as much as she should to be a skillful doggie guardian. I am grateful, too, that she is willing to change her ways. I anticipate a flea-less future. Huzzah!