(Art group sketch)
Acrylic on canvas
12 x 12 inches
Barbara Muir © 2011
When I walk my dog in the park I see a dog who
is a life lesson in himself. The dog runs like the
wind, faster than any other dog. His owner carries
a throw stick with my dog's favorite, coveted
orange ball, and throws that ball like a pro, so far
that his dog races away for minutes at a time, and
hunts for the ball in the long grasses, or bushes.
I am always so intensely impressed with the dog
-- a large, graceful brown and white spotted short
haired dog, with floppy brown ears. I'm impressed
with his owner too, who walks the dog quietly,
kindly and respectfully and with pride.
The dog has only three legs. I've asked why, but
I admit that when the owner was answering me I
was captivated by the sight of that gorgeous, speedy
creature, and missed the answer. Maybe cancer.
I think about that dog when I think it's too
hard to paint, or I'm too tired, or any of hundreds of
excuses that can pop into my head and take me off
track. I think the dog does not know he's different than
the day before that leg was removed. He is just enjoying
life to the absolute maximum. And I know he's got
the right idea.
Now I'm going to walk my girl, Zoey (the dog) maybe
I'll be lucky and see that other very special dog.
Have a-knowing-how-blessed-you-are day.