Mickey knows.

Thank dog.  Yeah, that's right, I didn't misspell anything.  I think it's awesome that the come-back 'dude' Mickey Rourke actually thanked his dogs during his Golden Globe acceptance speech.  "Sometimes, when a man is alone, that's all you've got is your dog."  It's so refreshing to have someone not praise Jesus for their golden statuette, but instead, take a humble step back and thank that which helped him keep it together--his beloved dogs--even if it might make him sound like a dope at first.  

Any dog lover knows that bond between man and dog is irreplaceable and profound.  I, personally, know exactly how Mickey feels.--my little soulmate has been by my side for the past four and half years and she's my best friend.  Looking to heal a broken heart from the recent death of my puppy, I found her at the local shelter.  She filled my gaping heart and then some.  

Our bond was not immediate, but there was something in her that made me take her home.  She didn't want to show me her supposed potty trained skills for a while, testing my patience and, regrettably making me sometimes wish I never took on such a responsibility.  And now that I try to think about other things that aggravated me, I cannot recall a single one.   I adopted her when she was one year old, she didn't have a name or a history that anybody knew about--my sister and I like to joke that she fell from heaven when I needed her.  Now that's a little gushy, but I've turned into a total puppy-love-sucker.  The bond that you can create with a special, intelligent animal is unbelievable.  It truly is unconditional--well, as long as you fill the belly and stroke the head once in a while.  The only expectations that they have of you is that you, hopefully, will take them around the block, and better yet, to the park.  I can't project expectations of my financial success or how I should look in bathing suit into her brown eyes--my poor boyfriend gets that bag.  She's just there for me, plain and simple, anytime, anywhere. 

She's also an inspiration--seriously.  She was a stranded, orphan pup who opened herself up to receive love and to give it back, whole-heartedly.  Being only 28 lbs., she's a little on the smaller size of 'big' dogs, but she doesn't let this hold her back at all.  She conquered her fear of the water and learned to swim across rapids, dive fully emerged to the bottom of creeks to retrieve rocks, and then leap fearlessly from cliffs into the depths below.  My friend and I would throw pieces of dead tree trunks out into the river for my friend's 120 lb. lab to retrieve, but when he saw how far he would have to swim she would leap over him and take it on herself.  Gripping any part she could, she would tug-boat that tree trunk all the way back to us on shore, shake off the water, look up and ask us to do it again.  She can climb trees like a mountain cat and you should see the scared-shitless squirrels flee for their lives.  

Basically, she doesn't let her being a dog define her, and I need to realize that nobody defines me either, except myself.  I have let this city and the pressures of trying to hold it all together overwhelm me from time to time, but then I look in her eyes and immediately feel better and brought back down to earth.  

She knows just how to put it all in perspective.