As we walked this morning, I watched Langley's salt and pepper head keeping time with her paws. She'd stop every now and then to investigate new smells, but then pick back up with her trotting along the trail. She thinks she's walking me, I'm sure, always making sure she's out front, until we're over four miles in and the heat hits her and all of a sudden she's letting me walk her.
I wondered this morning if she feels hurt, if her heart hurts like ours. I know she gets miffed with us, showing us by getting on her bed, turning her back to us and sighing loudly. But do her feelings get hurt? She seems like she lives such a happy life, trotting along the trail, looking for breaks in the underbrush to get to the creek for a quick cool down before charging down the trail. She cares, I know that, doubling back to check on me to make sure I'm still there and that I'm okay.
She knows how to love.
How do dogs know when we're hurt, when we're sick or our heart is breaking? How does Langley know to come lay at our feet when we're not feeling good or to give us hugs when we're sad? I think she can feel like us. I think God gave dogs the ability to comfort us in His place or when we're too stubborn to ask for His help.
Right now, Langley is sound asleep, twitching every now and then as she dreams. She's the embodiment of happiness and joy and she loves without limits. That's her job and she takes it very seriously.
She's such a good dog.
And today was easier.