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Cute comedy clickbait: why you should Just Say No to puppies

Puppes are super cute, fact. Be aware, however, that this is just a biological ruse… The big eyes and inexplicably cute facial dimensions and soft sniffly sounds, damn even that delectable puppy fur aroma…. All designed to make any adult creature with a pulse fall hopelessly in love and adopt two or three of them on the spot.

Should you encounter a puppy pusher, on the street, in a bar, on gumtree, in one of those great big cute animal supermarkets with aisles of neon chew toys , gourmet ham hock terrines and tiny onesies…. Here is why, you should just say no.

Your ankles will not be your own for a long, long time…

Puppies love ankles, their little jaws are perfectly evolved to fit snugly around an Achilles’ tendon with the teeth positioned just so that they can cause maximum impact without disabling their major provider’s mobility entirely. Puppies are hard wired to seek the ankle as a first point of contact for communicating a range of needs from food to attention to just being more deeply involved in whatever you are doing.

For that matter, neither will your socks…

Oh the delicious delight of a sweaty, stinky, sock! A puppy can snuffle out a dirty sock like a pig with a truffle. You know all those years  and years pre-puppy when you wondered who was hiding one of each pair of socks  you brought into the house? Blamed it on the sock fairy? It was the puppy you didn’t have yet, travelling back in time, relentless in pursuit of your socks.

You will develop a “twitch” around soft furnishings….

This will reveal itself one night when you are lounging on the sofa at a friend’s house, immersed in relaxed post-prandial chatter, and she reaches over to grab a cushion from beside you… “NODONTCHEWTHEF#%KINGCUSHIONS!!!”

You come round from the red mist to find yourself eyeball to eyeball with your friend who is down on the rug on her back with legs in the air, your lip curled to a canine snarl… You cannot apologise enough, it’s just been months of patient corrections and deep breaths, having to spend the chilly evenings with your neck crunked against the too high armrest of the sofa while your lovely squishy cushions go musty in the attic, waiting out the teething.

You will become a potty mouth…

Literally. Instead of responding to “How ya doing?” with the classic “Yeah pretty good, you?” Out will tumble a full breakdown of recent toilet tales and triumphs like “Yeah I’m ok, I mean I started my morning picking up poops and bleaching the rug  but he’s getting almost through the night now and his poops are much more sausage-like since the new kibble so it’s getting easier HA HA HA. Hurr…”

I now totally understand how it happens with new parents. You become so desensitised to the piss and shit of another creature, that you adore unconditionally,  that it actually becomes a fascination and a full-time project for a short while, during which time your still socially sensitised companions will brace themselves slightly before asking that question.

You will get addicted!

The sleepy squeaks and snuffles, the goofy gallop, the nestling and burrowing, the velvety softness, the smell of their  fuzzy little head when you kiss it (biological ruse, keep focus), the total adoration and awe, the wild comedy antics, the hapless curiosity, the total relaxed abandon on your belly, the ‘just the once’ spoony snuggles of that first week… You will get addicted. They will get big and doggy, and delight you in other ways, but you will start to linger a little longer as you pass the animal shelter, listening to the heart rending little yelps and whimpers. “Well. Having two is not much different to having one. Barney would love the company. Dogs are pack animals after all.” And so it begins again….

Just Say No.

Look how cute this puppy is!!!! ( I’m helping you to be strong, watch these as many times as it takes until the urge passes away, then you will be ok)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Drop everything and play in the sun like a butterfly…

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It is time to create and to light up. Light up and the creativity pours out of its own accord. I  don’t sit down to be creative, I just fall in love with life in this moment and my heart starts to sing.

Women need to be in love: with themselves, with a man, with a child, with a project, with a job, with their country, with the planet, and – most important – with life itself. Women in love are closer to enlightenment. For angels and lovers, everything sparkles. ~ Marianne Williamson, A Woman’s Worth.

I am in love with beautiful me, with life, with the butterflies, with this time and place, with the sunshine, with my own heart’s song. So in love with it. My own Joy feels like heaven to touch. It’s the edge of almost unbearable pleasure, tasting my own joy like electric nectar inside and holding it in my body.  This abundant bliss fountain in my body.It is the source of everything else.

I do recognise the privelege of this moment. The privelege of feeling this. It is not a common thing, although it ought to be. Our own joy is freely available to us in every moment of life. Revelling in our own existence like wriggly cats on a sunny patio, is an option in every single moment. Yet I do recognise, it is a rare privelege.

What keeps us from this Joy? Put it down right now, and play in the sunshine of your own magnificence like a butterfly, just for a change. Why not?

I do recognise, so much of what I am making visible here is taboo. The sweetest taboo. Delighting in my own self.

When the immense drugged universe explodes in a cascade of unendurable colour. And leaves us gasping naked. This is no more than the ecstasy of chaos. Hold fast with both hands to that royal love. Which alone, as we know certainly, restores fragmentation into true being. ~ Robert Graves, Ecstasy of Chaos

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If you love the world, it will break your heart. And if you don’t love the world, it will break your heart.— Eric Allen Bell

Every day learning to be love is like learning to walk on hot sand.  This is the core of everything, the root, the causeless cause, and so – fundamentally – everything else I have to offer and reflect on comes down to this. I didn’t know how to begin, so I began at the end of everything. Hoping I can work backwards from here!

If I hadn’t felt overwhelming pain, my heart wouldn’t have the capacity to experience overwhelming  joy and love. It was only after grief softened the ground that love could sear through the permafrost and crack my heart wide open like a river emerging from deep underground, carrying me through the rocky rapids, splendid scenery and deep silent pools of my subsequent experience.

To speak it straight from the heart like a laser, feels hot and dangerous. Why is love so taboo? Why does it get boiled down to Hippies and Clintons and Twilight – all the life oozing out of it and leaving behind an amorphous untextured gloop? A seeping social miasma, another set of standards to measure up to, another norm to swallow whole – sharp square edges and all.

If I speak of love like this does it offend you? Make you squirm and look away?  How about this…? The awesome, magnificence of love in its glory is immaculate and terrible, with manes of ice and flame, and shimmering brutal claws. It’s not all roses.