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I'm a middle school English teacher, reader, hiker, beekeeper, and lover of dogs and wild birds. I'm also the mother of sons. Argh. I truly feel my best when putting words on a page, even if they're bad.
An Ode to Puppy Belly
Jul 01, 2020 4 years agoI am reacquainted with puppy belly every morning, and the smooth, full fatness of it-- brings me joy. Even in the leanest of times. Each morning since March 13 I've woken-- sometimes on puppy time or husband time or son time, but mostly on my own time (definitely not job time)-- and felt my dachshund-beagle mix, Ray, curled up next to me. "'Ray' like the girl in the new Star Wars?" people ask me. "No," I say. "'Ray' like in Ray Bradbury." "Oh," people say, confused. Maybe because they don't know who Ray Bradbury is or maybe because he was a man and my Ray is a girl. These days, she's a ray of sunshine, and I see beauty in her like I see in Bradbury's words and she certainly thinks she can perform the Jedi mind trick. (Those brown eyes. "You're going to feed me," they say.) Every morning, as I stir, the perfect curl of her body becomes a stretching comma. Then I say, "Good morning, Ray Ray," and she goes belly-up like a sprayed roach, legs and arms splayed, her magnificent puppy belly exposed to the world. Vulnerable but trusting. I wish I could have that much faith in the world right now. The best part is, she gets sucked into our 3-inch foam topped mattress, unable to move easily, frozen into a pose of "pet me now." So I do. I wave my hand back and forth over her rough white hair, so different than the smooth, black coat she has on top. It's a marvel. I pet her from her small barrel-like chest down to the convex arch of her taut puppy belly, the curve of which I might have never paused to notice in the "normal" world, the one where I'm always crushed for time-- the alarm, the waking of sons, the packing of lunches, the feeding of dogs and chickens, the hurried making of coffee, the brushing of teeth. Ray doesn't wag her tail in these moments. She's still and submissive and full of faith. Maybe she doesn't wag her tail because moving through the foam is like moving against the current. Too much effort. Maybe she doesn't wag because she senses that movement nudges our day forward. It compels us to make some type of progress. And we should be still and live in this puppy belly moment. The world outside is moving fast enough.
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