The Comfy Spot Dance

I could watch her do it 100 times. Maybe more. I may have already. Watching her find comfort, and hearing her find it sometimes, through an exaggerated, noisy exhale, just never seems to get old.

She’s the only one who does it, too. Her “sister,” an older border collie that believes her life’s mission is to chase and capture light, doesn’t. I’m not sure she’s built for it. Because, she goes until she’s…just…done.

And then collapses, sideways, on the floor. Anywhere on the floor, but most often in the way of our feet or where we are just about to go – guilty of attempted involuntary manslaughter almost daily.

“She’s going to kill me.”

I’ve said that a few times about her. She might not bring death, but she might bring me to the brink when I finally do trip down the stairs because of her, or laugh so hard at her strange little tics that I can no longer capture another breath.

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This one — Jessie — will be the death of me. 

The last way wouldn’t be a horrible way to go, I suppose. The first, down the stairs, would suck.

But the other girl, the blue heeler that stirs only when she has to. When she decides she finally needs to see what the noise is all about 10 minutes after it started. When she rouses to investigate what her sister is pissed about. When she’s waited for us, for hours, to say it’s time for bed.

Her low eyelids, seriously chill, punctuated by the very tip of her tongue that she lets peek through her lips when her sleep has been disturbed.

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Miss Elliott, so so so happy she can’t even look.

She’s crazy comfortable. But it takes her a minute to get there. And that’s the emotional choreography I can watch over and over and over.

That roundabout she needs. The circling that she requires, a dizzying dance in perfect geometry at an increasingly slower speed with each passing revolution. Because, with each new second, she’s getting closer.

She is looking for the spot. The one that will absorb her. And everything that is her.

As her humans, we don’t get to feel that level of comfort as regularly as she does. But I am. At least right now, feeling as comfortable as a dog that circles and eventually stretches across the most enviable corner of the couch, resting on the softest blanket in the house.

Today. In life.

Life, right now, feels like the best corner on the couch. Comfortable. Safe. Supported. Chill. But also a scene, at least at our place, for intense, achievable dreaming.

It may not last, because life changes so quickly. One puzzle piece moves, lifting others, requiring adjustments. But right now, I’ve done the circling, for a while, for a lot of things. A lot.

Jobs. Strength. People. Growth.

And I found my spot. In so many ways.

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