The Point
THE CHRONICLES
Dear Chronicle,
This doesn't happen very often, but today I was bored out of my doggie wits.
I don't know why.
The weather was perfect. Not too hot, not too cool.
I had eaten breakfast, so I knew I wasn't hungry.
I had barked at the wheelbarrow.
And I had chased a squirrel. Mission accomplished.
I should have been happy, yet something was missing.
I sat in the yard and wondered...
Was there more to my life than snacks, squirrels, and protecting my family from dangerous garden equipment?
(The wheelbarrow is one of these dangerous things, by the way.)
“Perhaps you need to find the point,” Giggle Sprout said.
The point?
I thought about this carefully.
“Is that something I can find under the couch?” I asked.
“Maybe,” said Giggle Sprout.
I checked under the couch.
No point.
I checked behind the couch.
No point there either.
I was beginning to think there was no point.
But then I remembered something:
Every time my family comes home, I am happy to see them.
Every time someone is sad, I sit beside them.
Every time something strange appears in the yard, I am there to investigate.
Maybe the point isn't something you see.
Maybe the point is something you do.
I looked at Giggle Sprout.
“I think I found the point.”
“You did? Where was it?”
“Where,” I said, “is beside the point.”
Giggle Sprout looked at me the way he does when he wants me to think he gets it. But I knew he didn't.
I did.
I sat a little taller.
I am a dog.
I was made to make my family happy.
To sit beside them when they need me.
To make them feel safe.
And being the best dog I can be...
Well, that's the point.
Then my stomach made a noise.
And the point went out the window.
