Good Girl, Jazzy!

I admit that most of my life I have loathed animals.  It seemed that if ever I took the time to stare at one for long enough, it would inevitably pooh on itself, lick its genitals, or charge at me.  My only experience with a family animal when I was young was with our bunny whose name was Puffy and who I am certain was a lesbian with glowing pink eyes and a hatred for all of humanity, but especially me.  I would try and pet her occasionally and she would open her mouth like she was yawning and bare her tiny dagger teeth at me.  We freely let her roam our house, poo-ing pellets and pissing all over because we were all afraid of her.  And when I say HER, I must disclose that we didn't find out HE was in fact a SHE until her later years, which is why to this day, I feel she was a lesbian bunny-- Waaayy too much testosterone in that bunny for her to claim any sort of femininity.  That story, memories of disgusting mating possums at Hogle Zoo, and the horse of our back-door neighbors who used to pleasure itself every dinner hour so we had to close the blinds, comprise my miserable history with animals.  And then. . . our family got a dog named Jasmine, or Jazzy for short.  This little puppy girl is really more like a 1 year old child with fur that has remained 1 her whole life, and always will.  She has fulfilled the measure of her creation already in her 5 years with our family, in that she has softened my heart and taught me how to love not just her, but all animals (okay, maybe not all).  She has shown me that animals have spirits, that animals have feelings, that they respect their owners, love those around them, and are sensitive to the suffering of those they love.  She has taught my children responsibility, a love and respect for animals, as well as given them many wonderful memories.  Jazzy is as sweet, patient, and kind as any human I have ever met, if not more-so.  She is as dumb as a door nail and took 5 (yes 5) years to potty train, but she loves me.  And I love her.  I love that I am her favorite.  I love that when she sees one of us coming, it's like the best day of her life as she frantically runs to greet us, often tinkling from excitement.  I love that she cries this pitiful, pitiful sound until I bring her into my room and let her lay at my feet to watch tv with me.  I love that if I just look at her or say her name, her tail wags wildly.  I love that she doesn't talk with words, but communicates love in so many other ways, and that it is unconditional.  I love that she is my automatic vacuum, as she quickly licks up any scraps I drop from the kitchen counter.  I love that if she sees me walking toward her, she turns over to have her tummy scratched.  I'm even a little embarrassed to admit I like when she licks my feet.  I love puppy footprints in the snow, and that she still finds pleasure when she goes potty and I say, "Good girl, Jazzy!  Good girl!"  Yes, it is true.  Pigs must indeed fly, because I, Sandra, previous hater of all animals, love my dog.  And because of her, when I look into the eyes of a horse, or watch a dolphin flip on top of the water, or see a deer out my window, I see that animals have intelligence and spirits like humans.  Because of her, I have developed even more of a testimony of God's love for his children, and for his immense creativity because he gave us animals.  Yes, I love my dog.  Who knew?