The Thing with Feathers

If Hitch were a person, he'd be Mother Theresa or Gandhi or someone who treated all living creatures with the respect they deserve. It's depressing how my dog is a better human being than I am.

Some people see the liquid and think half full. Others only see the air and think half empty. Sometimes I get the sense Chatham sees it all, which is kind of terrifying. I don't know if I want him to see me--the real me.

It's sad that my dog looks confused when my phone rings, like he's baffled by my blossoming social life.

I make a mental note to look into a psychology degree. Seriously. I may not be a real people person, but for one hundred and fifty dollars an hour, I think I can sit behind a desk and say, 'Tell me about that. Tell me about how that makes you feel.

With the exception of the near drowning this morning, today has been amazing.

I see only two concerns: One, I’ll stand out like a prep at a punk concert with an eighty-five pound golden retriever at my side. Two, Hitch will lick somebody to death.

When the water gets deep and the current strong, you have to swim. Promise me, you’ll swim.

But what Mom and I are doing isn't even doggy paddling. Were treading water in a hurricane, choking on choppy water. Mom's made a few tentative kicks and strokes, but I've been pulling her down. She can't swim because I've tied myself around her ankles like a cement block.

I strain at my too-tight shell, my hermit crab body preparing to molt, ready to shed this skin in favor of a larger shell that will accommodate my new growth. It's time to head out into the aquarium unprotected in search of a better fit, time to quit burrowing down into the same old sand and hiding from the world.

I inhale, basking in the moment. The world is full of opportunity, like the open sea. My heart is light—lighter than it’s been in ages—floating on a wave of possibility.

Let’s focus on what we can control and worry about the other stuff later.