My whack-a-doodle, labradoodle, Dash, loves to play frisbee. It's part of the morning routine. I’m pretty sure he thinks he’s exercising me when we do this.
Nothing like the bright-eyed, anticipating, and intense look he gives me as I prepare to launch the frisbee across the yard. Him lunging forward toward me like a cat pouncing on prey, trying to get me to hurry-up and throw it and me crouching in the ready position. Off it goes across the yard—and sometimes where I throw it. My flinging skills give new meaning to the phrase, “throws like a girl”
Dash doesn’t seem to mind. Neither does the giggling man in the hot tub, for whom the show is being put on. Back he comes after digging it out of the bushes and wagging his tail as he runs toward me, frisbee jammed in his mouth. He stops just out of my reach, which is part of the game, shaking it madly like he is trying to shake the life out of it. He is definitely in control of how long this is played, at what speed, and the level of intensity we engage.
7-year-olds are like that.
All the while, my 15.5-year-old, Diamond, who lives up to her shiney name, wanders around the yard looking at us like we are a couple of loonies let out of the bin. My little old lady will sidle up to me for a hug between throws. Turning her head sideways to look off into the distance showing her regal profile—queen that she is.
What does this have to do with sobriety?
I would have missed ALL of this—and did in the past while drinking.
All of this is pure joy and the closest thing I can think of to being the happiest I can be—my husband in the hot tub enjoying the scene, dogs playing in the sunshine and me, feeling grateful and enjoying another new sober day beginning.
Thank you, God.
John 10:10b "I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full."
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