I took Mira, our son’s Doberman, up to the cemetery for a run this afternoon. I have often admired and even envied how she runs and romps with joyous abandon. However, I also see her do stupid stuff that reminds me of myself.
This afternoon I took a small hard-rubber ball that she loves to chase. Mira raced after the yellow ball as it caromed off gravestones, and then pranced proudly around with it lifted high. Instead of retrieving, she celebrates the joy of having the ball. But she is quickly distracted and will drop the ball while sniffing trees or chewing grass. Often she forgets where she dropped the thing after which she ran so hard.
We are often this way. The world throws something and yells “fetch” and we lickety-split after fame, money, possessions, or something else we just have to have. But thirty seconds after our victory dance, we are distracted and care little for what we just got. We always want more or want different. We sniff around for something better.
Eventually, we figure out that the world, or our own silly pride and ambition, is just playing fetch with us—doggone it.
