Читать книгу My Dog, My Buddha - Kimberly Artley - Страница 6

PREFACE

When I’m coaching an individual who’s struggling to figure out what their “purpose” in life is, I always suggest they think back to their childhood and try to remember what it was they did where they’d lose all sense of time. When they were in their ultimate bliss. What filled them with so much joy, satisfaction, and incomparable fulfillment. For me, it was animals. Animals were my comfort, joy, and passion. I surrounded myself with them. If I was at a party, I was “that girl” that hung out with the resident pet. I’d do neighborhood rounds with my World Wildlife Fund magazine, knocking on doors, educating my neighbors, and collecting donations for their cause. When my envelopes got full of change, I taped them up, covered them in stamps, and mailed them off with lots of heart, big love, and full of pride (I still, to this day, wonder if those coin-filled envelopes ever made it).

Skippy

At 9 years of age, I was blessed with the best Christmas present ever. A Springer Spaniel puppy. I named him Skippy. Skippy was white with reddish-brown spots all over, freckles on his face, and a spot on his side that was shaped like a heart. He was my pride and joy. Although Skippy had the sweetest disposition, he was a total nightmare; and it wasn’t his fault. We weren’t meeting his needs as a dog, and certainly didn’t put in the time, effort, and energy to guide, teach, and way-show. Skippy was unfairly labeled a holy terror, and was sent away by my mother because of it. I came home from school one day, and Skippy was nowhere to be found. He was gone. To say I was absolutely crushed is a total understatement.