A Free Lunch

Yes, Dorothy, there IS such a thing.  At least today, if you are a black Lab named Tartan.  He is napping right now, contented and full.  I think he feels especially close to me, because it was my lunch that the Universe gave him so unexpectedly.  We share the same destiny, you know?  It's mind-blowing.  He thinks about these things.

Of course, Tartan knows that life doesn't just hand you luck on a silver platter (or in this case, a salad plate).  You have to make your own luck, you know?  Therefore, if Mom is on the porch watering flowers, and her lunch (which you watched her assemble, studying every carrot stick, every piece of cheese) is sitting neglected on her desk -- and if, once again, she has forgotten to feed you enough kibble today -- well, then, seize the day!  And while you're at it, the carrot sticks, the cheese, and the vegetable strata!

Tartan partook of my lunch with his usual quiet fastidiousness.  When I came back into my office, my plate was still where I had put it on my desk, the little bowl of blueberries on it untouched, my fork laid neatly to the side.  I thought at first, "Did I forget that I already ate my lunch?"  But then I saw that someone had knocked over my pencil sharpener, and it all began to add up.  Certainly Tartan's demeanor betrayed nothing -- nor evidently, did his conscience.

Why does Tartan counter-surf?  Is it an extension of the abundance he feels with us after spending the first two years of his life in a rigorous and ascetic guide-dog training program?  This is, after all, a dog who now has EIGHT beds:  the one on the floor of my office;

his fleece pad on the guest bed; his pretend bed (a monogrammed Orvis deluxe model) on our bedroom floor; the place he REALLY sleeps at night; 

his padded seat cover in the car;

  

our down sleeping bags in the camping tent; 

his pad near my husband's work bench; his memory foam mat on the floor of my recording studio; and his Bed of Choice: the living room couch.  (And why let that decorative pillow go to waste?)

Or was today's counter-surfing simply because my lunch was such a good food pairing with the dead bird he ate on his walk?

Of course it was none of these things.  Tartan ate my lunch for the same reason that Sir Hillary climbed Mt. Everest: because it was there.   And thus, in this eternal moment, life is good.

Let it be a lesson to all of us.