Click on 2015 in the index on the right of this blog. Next, click on the title of my December 31st blog, "The Shot Must Choose You." All my blog titles for 2015 will appear in the index.
Oddly
enough, we have owned two white and beige, female Shih Tzu’s in the past ten
years, virtual duplicates of the other, and an expensive breed of dog, both having
wandered up to someone’s door; the first, Buddy, to ours, and the second,
Queenie, to the door of a friend, and who, subsequently, gave that precious
little animal to my wife and I.
However,
this is where the similarities end.
Buddy, God
rest her soul, was the most compliant little pooch in terms of her demeanor
and, well, bathroom habits. From “Day One” we would allow her to walk out into
the yard, “do her thing,” and notify us when she wanted to come back in. She
also enjoyed sundering out and settling into a sunny spot near a couple of old
oak trees. There was never any concern that she would toddle off down the road,
and get lost.
(Once she got locked out of the house, and scratched and whined
at the door ‘til we let her in).
Why, Buddy
didn’t even enjoy taking extended walks. She would pull at the leash, and turn
her head back towards our house. Strangely enough, however, if I picked her up
in my arms, and walked away, once we did a 180, she was always ready to get
down, and walk back home.
Queenie, on
the other hand, (who, by the way, is still breathing in and out) is a bit more
unpredictable in nature. From “Day One” she could not be trusted to do the
right thing. A leash has been, and after two years continues to be absolutely
necessary.
Queenie once
managed to get out the door without our having witnessed her temporary escape,
and before we noticed she was missing, there was a knock on our door. When we
opened the door, “Bridgette,” a 15 year old neighbor, was standing there; a 15
pound ball of fur in her arms.
“Isn’t this
your dog, Dr. McDonald?”
To which I
responded,
“Yes,
indeed. Apparently, you discovered her near your house.” (A home which lies
approximately 150 yards from my own).
Whereas,
Buddy detested leashes, and the resulting walks, Queenie, (as the previous
illustration implies) enjoys the extended out of doors, and will follow me as
far as I care to aim her tiny little nose. And as fastidious as Buddy proved
herself to be, Queenie has proven to be anything but.
She is just
as likely to do the solid waste thing in the middle of the asphalt, and she has
a curious habit of “draining her lily pad” on the edge of the road; where the
pavement meets the grass. As a result, her last bowl of water, now a putrid
yellow, liquid mess, oozes out, about and under her little paws; a habit which
requires a couple more baths than was
the case with our little Buddy.
And thus the
title of this blog
… Peeing on
Her Own Feet
And thus the
moral of the story.
In a
figurative sense, at least, some people seem to be guilty of that sort of discrepancy
on a consistent basis.
As a
counselor I’ve seen and heard things which would make your hair turn green. (If
I had any … hair). Amazing and wonderful things. (In the most negative sense of
the word).
There's an old adage. I you want something you’ve never had, you may have to do something you’ve never
done. With the following folks, “the doing” was only a good theory.
Those who
attempted to take their own lives during the course of counseling
Others who
got clean, but not free, and returned to drugs and/or alcohol like a dog to its
vomit
The ones who
promised they were through with unfaithfulness, but who sooner, rather than
later, re-adopted that lifestyle
They who
displayed codependent tendencies, and who experienced an “ah-ha moment;” if
only for a moment.
Abject
dysfunction.
So much like
my little Queenie. But she’s a dog.
… People
were never meant to pee on their own feet.
By William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from "(Mc)Donald's Daily Diary" Vol. 21. Copyright pending
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