Hope

Not long ago, I noticed that our dog, Wiley (pictured above at bath time) was begging much more than usual.  In general she’s a lingerer, but not an actual beggar.  It turns out that she had found the stash of chocolate cream cheese brownies my husband had secreted away for himself.  Thankfully, it was not enough chocolate to do her any physical harm.  Just give her bad habits.

It’s made me think about the habit of hope, which most dogs seems to have.  Since her experience with the brownies, the dog is hoping that anything in a plastic bag might be a chocolate cream cheese brownie.

Of course our lives are more complicated than dogs.  We don’t default to hope, like dogs do.  We have to choose it.

And it’s not as if we choose it once, and then we are always hopeful–we must choose it again, and again, and again.

It’s another kind of practice–do I choose hope, or do I choose resignation.

The dog hopes.  Out of this bath, something good will happen, I just know it.  She looks at me out of the corner of her eyes.  She’s hoping if she stands still long enough, this bath will be over, and the treat in my pocket will be hers.

And, of course, she’s right.

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