Homecoming

To semi-quote a "Buddy" of mine, I can explain my genealogy quite simply: I'm a dog, raised by humans. 

This wasn't a divine conception of any sort. I was born with other fur babies (well, hair babies to be correct but that's a minor detail) who looked just like me! We were a variety of colors — spotted black, brown and blonde. Mom said she picked me because I was blonde like her. They say humans start looking like their dogs but maybe humans pick dogs who inherently look like them. Just for the record, I had bangs first. What can I say, I'm a trendsetter, ladies. 

Anywho, I remember the day mom picked me up. She came with her friend Karrie, who had a dog named Fosters. Fosters wasn't there when they picked me up but little did I know that he would be at my 1st birthday party. That's a story for another time but let's just say things got messy. 

Back to my homecoming. Mom seemed nervous. I don't know what she was nervous about — I'm delightful! I was the one who was voyaging into unfamiliar waters. I had no idea where I was going, for how long and why this sudden change of scenery. 

The first night was scary. I had all the blankets, water, food and comforts of home a furball (again, should be hairball but I just can't call myself that) could need but I still didn't know where I was and why. Mom seemed nice and I even realized we looked a bit alike. That was comforting. 

Before long I got used to this new place and began calling it home. Little by little, I earned more territory while mom was away, graduating from the kennel, to the play pen and eventually the entire open area. I like to think that I've earned the title "Little King" of the household. For some reason mom never calls me that. I'm still counting on it being added to my legal name. I dream big. 

So here I sit, 5 years later, happily couch surfing and thinking about life. Mom talks about how she has tried meditation before but her mind always wonders as she thinks about her grocery list or what her next blog post should be about. (Now what could she be blogging about?) I don't meditate either but with all this thinking, it's got to have some term. I better live up to my trendsetter reputation so here it goes, "thinkitating." If anyone asks, it's the hot new thing. 

And that's what I'm mulling over today.

Your friend,

Murphs

Mom, Grandpa and me during one of our first walks.