One of these days, I'll stop naming dogs after fictional nefarious types. I'm convinced at this point, that if I had named either of my boys Buttercup, they would have been docile and sweet as flowers. Instead, I have a rowdy little monster, who's pretty freaking adorable despite being monstrous.
The big difference, I've noticed, between my first Doberman and my second, is that Viktor is happy. I mean, really happy, all the time. And every new person or animal he meets, he wants to play with. And thinks they want to play with him. He thinks the barn cats want to play with him. He thinks the minis want to play. And, most dangerous of all, he thinks the big horses want to play. It's nothing short of adolescent exuberance pouring out of his little round eyes when he's around...well, anyone. Or anything. He's high on life, this dog.
For him, everything is a possibility: a new friend, a new game, a new toy; a new day, full of walks and tummy rubs and couch-leaping and leaf-chasing and stall-cleaning. It's a good lesson for me: look for the possibilities. This fall, I'm all about the possibilities of my writing: learning, growing, stretching, reaching. If only I had Viktor's energy! Right now, I'm all learn, learn, learn; grow, grow, grow. I just need to remember to chase a leaf now and then.
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