Everywhere we go, people talk to her and want to pet her. Invariably, they’re surprised that she’s a Chihuahua, since she is without any of the negative traits people usually associate with Chihuahuas. She isn’t yappy or nervous, and she doesn’t shake all the time. We chalk that up to our accomplishment as great puppy parents. We were very intentional with her from the time we brought her home. We took her everywhere with us then, just like we still do today, so she’s an extremely well socialized little puppy.
I just noticed something about her this morning as I let her out of her little pet taxi for her usual out the door, gotta go right now excursion. She doesn’t ever do anything halfway. She is always excited about everything. Time to go outside? She runs to the door full force and hops around as she waits for me to put her harness and leash on her. When it’s cold and she sees me getting her sweater out of the drawer that she knows contains only her stuff, she spins in circles and hops around until I pick her up to dress her. When she sees us putting on our shoes to go somewhere, she hops around, ensuring she gets our attention so she can ask, “Can I go today, too?” And when we’re going somewhere she can’t go, and we tell her no, I could swear I can see a little bit of sad disappointment in her little eyes. When I open the front door of the RV, even if I’ve only gone out to the truck to get something right quick, she meets me right there at the door, doing her little wiggle butt, waggy tail, hop around and almost fall out of the RV dance because she’s so excited to see me again. Why? Because she’s a dog, and she doesn’t do anything halfway.
When she ran full tilt to the door this morning, I noticed that she has something that a lot of us as people have lost somewhere along the way. She’s simply happy to be alive. Going outside to do her business is always an adventure, or at least she sees that it has the potential to be one. Just riding somewhere in the truck with us, even though she’s done it a thousand times over the past five years that she’s been alive, still hasn’t lost that element of excitement for her. She absolutely wigs out until we’re out of the parking lot and headed down the street. Just because she’s moving. She has absolutely no idea where we’re going, or what we’re going to be doing, but that doesn’t seem to faze her even a little bit. We’re rolling down the road, and she gets to go with us today.
Most days when she does go with us, we’re going to several antique shops or flea markets, which means getting in and out of the truck four, five, or six times. And every single time we pull the truck to a stop, she hops up, excited to see whatever we’re going to see next. I think when I was a kid, I was the exact same way. Probably without the wiggly butt and spinning in circles, though. Probably. Where did that go? Why do we let the daily ins and outs of our lives rob us of the excitement of simply being alive today? Sure, people may look at us strangely when we run to the front door, excited to go out and meet the world, but maybe, just maybe, our excitement will rub off on them. Then we can laugh with them when they’re all ready to go for a ride in the truck with us, waiting excitedly by the front door until we’re ready to walk out into the world with them.
I think it could be time for me to start being a bit more intentional about how I view the world around me from day to day. I don’t think it would hurt one little bit for me to get excited about going for a ride in the truck. Even if it is just to head down the street to the Evil Empire to get that gallon of milk I forgot to pick up while I was at the store yesterday afternoon. There could, just possibly, be an adventure waiting for me out there. Maybe even in the form of someone needing a kind word, a smile, or a nod of acknowledgement that they are seen. Makes me want to go get milk right now, even though I’ve said for quite some time that I hate going to the Evil Empire. Could be I just need to change how I view things. Could be I just need to stop and be thankful and excited about taking that next breath, and remembering where that breath came from.
Who knew I could learn so much from a spastic little fuzzbucket I call Porsche? I have always known she was a smart little puppy. That’s why I make a point of telling her most every day that she’s my favoritest puppy on the whole planet. Sometimes, I even think she understands what I mean.