I made a high pitched squeal and her ears perked up. Her head tilted right, then left and she looked at me with such bewilderment. I often wonder what she is thinking and I have to remind myself that she is just a dog. It's so easy to forget.
With all the thoughts that run through my head, I find myself envying a dog's life. Imagine the simplicity.
I am like her in some respect because when I dig, I get into trouble. I know I am safer behind the studio door. This is where I can suffer the least amount of consequence, or so I believe.
The times that I venture out are the times I find myself lost.
I picture a puzzle I had as a child. My dog, Smokey had chewed one of the pieces . I can recall the frustration I felt not completing the puzzle. I even banged my fists on that chewed piece trying to make it fit.
All my life I have felt that I am that misshapen piece. My gnarled and chewed edges limit me in so many ways.
You can try as hard as you want to make me fit in, but I never will.
Painfully, I have learned to accept this.
Now when I venture out,
I know not to force my edges.
I just place myself a little askew near the rest of the puzzle and it's okay.