Gratitude Personified

by

Well, perhaps canine-ified, but the message is the same.

While casting about for a worthy subject for this first column of the new year, I glanced up from my desk into the eyes of the ever-patient, constantly waiting Paige. Miss Paige is one of my two “obligation dogs.” Of my six dogs, I chose four and two chose me—just landed in my house through unusual circumstances and never left.

Paige had the most horrible start to life. I have heard bits and pieces of her backstory and it is just nightmarish. Paige is the product of backyard breeding, something vaguely beagle-esque and a husky, because blue eyes in a dog is worth extra cash so let’s just shove breeds together willy-nilly to make money. Sorry. That was too soap-boxey. I digress.

A friend of mine got a call in the middle of the night. There’s a puppy tied outside to a tree with no food, no water or shelter and it’s 22 degrees out on a windy night. He did what any of my friends would do. He got up and went over to the house and took the puppy. Some might call that theft. For Paige it was a miracle.

This tiny little puppy, close to freezing to death, was in a world of hurt. Not only was frostbite starting to set in, but she’d been fed PCP and both her front legs were broken. She was on a chain so heavy, she could barely lift her head, though that could have been from injuries suffered as well. After my friend got the pup home and into the light, he could tell that this situation was so much worse than originally thought.

My friend called the sheriff’s department that night and confessed to what he’d done and the deputy was surprisingly understanding. The deputy called it “private rescue” and asked for the address of the house where the pup was found. The next day, the sheriff’s department and child protective services visited the house and found a meth lab, stolen property, children, no food in the house and parents too high to realize that it was the sheriff’s department standing in their kitchen and kept hollering for somebody to bring them a beer.

My friend spent more than $3,000 to fix Paige’s little broken legs. He weaned her off whatever drugs she’d ingested, cradling her while she shook and cried. He exercised her, trained her and gave her a stable, pleasant home. He realized her chicken-based dog food was making her itchy and bald, so he popped for the expensive salmon kibble that she adores now. Paige was in hog heaven, loving life. She spooks easily, not the most confident pupper, and is constantly reading human body language, always trying to decipher if the situation might go badly. I have seen Paige do many things, but unless she’s sleeping or playing, relaxing isn’t her strong suit.

Sometimes when you least expect it, sometimes when you’re busy making progress, something happens that upturns everything. Years pass. My friend got arrested. Oops. That’s a story for another day, but the point is that Paige was now homeless. Paige, the emotionally fragile, but physically stable dog is now in jeopardy again and that kind of stress could wreck her. What could I do? We all know what I would do. I volunteered to house Paige while he was in jail. Once released, my friend’s circumstances changed for the better and he got a new lease on his life but could not take Paige back. Okay then, I guess Paige is part of our pack officially.

Paige went from a quiet home to a house full of dogs. Playmates! She ate well. She slept well. She absolutely flourished. She made a best friend in my pack, my only male, the French bulldog Dobby. At 3:30 every day they tear through the house chasing and body slamming each other into walls. It’s their pre-dinner flurry of play and no one else participates. No one else could keep up. When they get tired, they throw themselves on a dog bed and quick nap until dinner. They are truly best buds.

Paige loves Dobby, but she loves my husband Patrick more. She loves a guy. She’s pretty male-centric in her love. I guess she remembers being saved by a guy. Guys rule as far as Paige is concerned. Human male attention is the frosting on her cupcake and I will catch her gazing longingly at him, trying telepathically to will him to pet her. She adores couch time, cuddling with Patrick. She likes me but she worships him. Paige doesn’t just love proximity; she looks like she’s trying to figure out a way to crawl inside him. Extra nearness, right next to the soft, pillowy lungs please, is what she desires.

It does not take much to make her happy, either. Put your hand on a tennis ball and Paige reacts like she’s been presented with the crown jewels. For me? Give her a tiny treat and she dances with joy. When she can cuddle next to another dog to nap, she’ll smile while sleeping. Paige appreciates every pleasantry she encounters. Paige is truly the queen of gratitude. Which got me to thinking.

It could not harm us in any way to be more grateful. I’m not talking lottery-win gratitude, I’m talking about simple, Paige-levels of “Is that for me? You shouldn’t have!” appreciation. Whether it’s a simple treat, a quick cuddle, a little play or any positive attention, it’s worthy of a thank you.

We say thank you all the time and I think it’s become a reflex phrase rather than a thoughtful response for me. I say thank you without realizing it and certainly without sincerity. I hope to consciously become more grateful. Take the time to realize what someone’s done for me and respond appropriately. Go to bed with the realization that nice things happened for me that day, that someone else did something to make my life easier or to show that they’re thinking of me fondly, and appreciate how special that is. I tend to remember the wretched, forget the fine stuff, which is just part of my personality, but I’m working on it. If something lovely happens, I want to stop and appreciate it no matter how small a victory it might be.

If you read this column regularly, I thank you. I appreciate you and hope I’ve given you a laugh or two. It’s a new year. It’s brand new 2025. Let’s show everyone that crosses our paths that we understand our good fortune and we are thankful for everything that keeps us safe, healthy and happy. We may not be able to fix everything that’s wrong, but we can certainly fix ourselves.

As for me and Miss Paige, we’re just grateful to be here.

The story above first appeared in our January / February 2025 issue. For more like it subscribe today or log in with your active BRC+ Membership. Thank you for your support!