As a child, I was allowed to breed my cocker spaniel, Skipper, and sell the puppies. One of the many little businesses I had growing up. Raising cockers was a family tradition – my mom and her siblings did it on the farm when they were growing up, too. (I wouldn’t do it now, preferring rescues to purebreds, thank you. Please adopt.)
But Skipper had this adorable litter of puppies, and I was crazy about them. I had to go to the dentist and maybe I was having a cavity filled. Don’t remember, just know that I was freaked out and getting a shot. My mom said, “Think of the puppies,” and I did. A pile of puppies wriggling around.
To this day, when I need a meditational focus to take my mind off of a root canal, or an MRI, or anything that requires me not to cuss or move, I “think of the puppies.”
I saw this picture and it’s pretty darned close to the picture in my mind that I’ve carried since I was six years old. I always think of the puppies: