Yesterday I sat and ate my lunch in the miraculous sun in a park near the Original Yin Gym.  It's a popular place for dog owners because there is a large field for dogs to run and chase balls and chase each other.  There were no dogs in the field when I began my lunch, but then a dog I had seen before, a dog that looked like it had a lot of border collie in it, ripped across the field, his owner strolling along somewhere behind.  The dog did exactly what I had seen it do the last time and the time before that.  It ran and ran in big circles around the perimeter of the field, glancing over regularly to its owner.  It kept an impressive pace the entire time at the park, even increasing its speed for short bursts.  I imagined this dog lived for these outings, spending much of its time--almost more than it could bear--in a house or apartment deep in Vancouver, waiting for the sound of its owner at the door, tracking the hours by the changing shades of light through the windows.

Bred to chase and coral and run all day, this dog had only these oh-so-short outings in which to exercise its spirit.  And so it ran and ran, trying to fit a days worth of heart-pounding, blood-pumping, lung-stretching strides into 5 or 10 minutes.  The owner or caretaker planted his less-lean frame at the center of the field; his exercise involved turning in a circle on the spot while watching his dog race around the field.  If only the dog could run fast enough to spin his owner into a dazzling pirouette.  Instead, the owner stopped turning his legs after a while and just turned his neck as far as it would go.  As soon as the owner moved back towards where they had come from, the dog followed.  Outing over.  I never once heard the dog complain.

How often are we making the most of our opportunities to stretch our spirits?  How much time and energy are we using to complain?

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