I’m sure you’ve seen the refrigerator magnet, card, poster, picture, etc. that proclaims, “I hope to be the kind of person my dog thinks I am.” Actually, I’d settle for being the kind of “person” I think my dog is.

Now I know that for some people (not you and me, but some) dogs aren’t people. Whenever I suggest that Annie is a person with fur, my wife admonishes me to not bring Annie down to my level. And, of course, she’s right. Dogs are so much better than I am.

I wish I could emulate the unconditional love with others in my life that Annie gives me and that I give her (during those moments when I’m not competing with peanut butter and other food stuffs). Annie can do anything, be anyway she wants and I will still love her. Not true for the people in my life. Not true for the way I feel about myself.

I see Annie’s apparent lack of jealousy and wish that I could live up to her standards (I’d be shocked if a talking Annie would say, “Oh look. That Terrier has more toys than I do”). I’m jealous of anyone richer, smarter and better looking than I am. 

I see Annie’s innate authenticity (she seems incapable of pretending to be something that she’s not), but I still pretend to like people more than I do, to be friendlier than I feel and to be more content than I am.

I observe Annie’s willingness to share her toys (or, at least, to not fight when our neighbor dogs run off with her latest ball or chew toy), but I find myself reluctant to share my car, house and money with anyone, especially as the economy worsens.

I notice Annie waiting patiently to go for a walk, get fed or be let into the front door  (when she doesn’t use her dog door in the back), but I get irritated when people drive below the speed limit, when there’s a car in front of me at the bank drive up window or when my computer doesn’t boot up as fast as I just know it should.

And, most of all, I wish I had the blissful peace of acceptance of whatever life offers that Annie seems to have. She doesn’t complain about her sore leg and aching joints. She doesn’t seem to wish she were younger and able to run with the dogs in the park. She doesn’t fight over territory when neighbor dogs appropriate her bed on our porch. She doesn’t moan during the 30-hour drive between Arizona and Washington State that we do twice a year nor does she complain because most of the cargo area where she is riding is taken up with luggage.  

Annie just seems grateful or at least accepting of being alive. I’m just grateful for Annie.