By Glendy and HoneyBear

She's much better at it than I am. HoneyBear that is. She can have a horrible disease like Osteosarcoma. Prognosis, terminal and terrible (for all but the luckiest of miracle dogs). Almost certain to be full of agonizing pain, no matter which path you take, that no animal should ever have to go through. After all, animals are so innocent.

Animals and children should NEVER get sick. That's my opinion. And I guess I have to be honest. I question a God that could let that happen. But then again, I question a lot of things God does.

Sometimes his "mysterious ways" just seem like plain, old torture. Designed to make us suffer. And why? A vengeful God? I never really subscribed to that idea. But I have to admit, sometimes that seems more true than anything else.

I wonder though...God is a dictator? Hm. Good name for a song. Sure I'm not the first one who's thought of it. But at any rate it feels true.

Course it isn't. Plenty of people who "do everything right" and "follow all the rules" (once upon a time I was one of them), have horrible, terrible, no good, very bad things happen to them. For seemingly no good reason at all.

(Hm. Also been one of those once upon a time. Maybe that's why I'm not one of the first those anymore...)

Anyway.

Okay. Clearly I've strayed from the original concept here. Kind of like my life...

Anyway, as I was saying - and HoneyBear's letting me do all the talking here, for our first joint blog post. Poor pup. Guess she really didn't know what she was getting herself into. Not that she really had a choice in the matter I guess. Kind of like when I brought her home that first day. ...But

...That's a story for another time. A time when I can let myself cry freely without fear my sadness will reach her and ruin any of her days. Regardless of how many of them she has left.

Anyway.

As I was saying.

She's better at it than I am. The "not knowing."

What can happen, what will happen, what might happen, when, where, if, and all the rest of the answers that reside in the space of the unknown. She is not fazed by any of it. By that terrible, frightful place most of us are terrified of...the unknown.

The unknown has no power over her because she doesn't fear it. And she doesn't fear it, because it literally can't get her. And the reason is, because...in order to be prey to the unknown, you have to live in a world where there is an unknown.

But when you live in the moment, nothing is ever unknown. It literally doesn't exist. Because all there is, is all you know. And all you know, is this moment.

And she can do it. She can exist in the world of now. She can just live each moment, whether painful, restful, peaceful, fearful, joyful. Just LIVE it. And then let it go. In favor of the next moment, which lives in her world of now.

And on and on it goes for her. The now. Her now. It's all she's got. It's all she knows.

Right HoneyBear?

("Um...what," she says. "I have no idea what you're talking mom. Can we go out for a walk now?")

Exactly! She has no idea what I'm talking about. Because for her, the unknown, doesn't exist. Is it because she has no concept of "time?" Because she doesn't grasp her "future" or her "past?"

Or is it just because she does, but she's just SO much wiser than I am? Than most humans really? She just gets that all we really have is the moment. So, she lives in it. Because really, knowing all you ever really have is "the moment," wouldn't doing anything else be just plain silly at best and pure insanity at worst?

I don't know. But I know she's mastered what it has taken me an entire lifetime just to "suck at."

Well, maybe I'm being a little hard on myself. Maybe, I don't exactly SUCK AT IT. But, let's face it. I'm not that good at it either.

And it...awes me. That's the only word that fits there. That my furry little ball of joy and wonder named HoneyBear, yes, HB, I'm still talking and I'm talking about you. Can just do so easily what seems so impossible for me to do, for say, more than a split second.

Just LIVE. In the moment. The only thing we ever really have. No worries about five weeks, months or years from now. No worries about a minute from now. Just lives. In this moment.

My dog, my amazing dog named HoneyBear, teaches me, every single day, how to be a better human. It's crazy but it's true.

And it makes me wonder. Maybe God, isn't a vengeful dictator at all. Maybe there is more to his or her "mysterious ways" after all.

I mean...would a vengeful dictator deploy an angel from heaven, in the form of a dog, to save my life and teach me all the things I needed to learn?

But then again...why would God give me such an angel and then take her away? (Good point, my cynical brain thinks).

On the other hand...maybe this Mysterious Way God has another angel/teacher on the way for me. Maybe in the form of a dog or a human or a circumstance. Maybe all of the above. Maybe it's a plan I don't understand. Can't conceive of. Will see clearly years from now. May never see clearly.

But. Either way. Or rather, ANY way, you slice it. I will live it. In MY now. (Whether you like it or not HB says. Whether you like it or not, God chimes in).

Because the bottom line is. Regardless of my ability to conceive of my later. Or my before. Or my NOW. I, like all other humans, have the unenviable task of having to live in the NOW. By the laws of physics. But also have the wherewithal to conceive of it, complain about it, criticize it, squander it...you get the idea.

(The Laws of the Universe SUCK, my whiny child complains). SUCK IT universe! You really shouldn't have said that, the universe admonishes. Oh well...bring it. Actually cancel that. I'm not up for it.

Any way. If HB has anything to say about it, one thing is clear. No matter what. It doesn't matter. Because no matter what. This moment is all we have. She and I. And right now. Right here. For today. She's here. And she's peaceful. And she's with me. And I love her. And she loves me.

And she wants her yogurt and her walk. So.

That's all we have. So, that's all that matters.

Hm. I guess in the end. She had the last word.