Puffed

I'd like you to meet Hua James Beethoven. He was an adorable puppy who grew into a really cute little dog. As a puppy, Hua tended to get a little too excited, a little too often. When that happened, his owner held him against her in a sort of firm and gentle bear hug ... and just patiently waited until

he puffed out a breath of submission. This happened a lot when Hua was a puppy. Now that he is older Hua doesn't need it nearly as often, but occasionally we humans find ourselves asking, "Hua? Do you need to be puffed?"

This past week groceries arrived in my kitchen with a request from the shopper/provider, "Could you make Chicken Quesadillas for dinner?"

"Sure." I responded, "If you'll cook the chicken."

"Deal."

The problem came in when I discovered that we had only enough cheddar for ONE serving. Dinner was for THREE.

Sitting comfortably, feet propped up on our coffee table, the requester of Chicken Quesadillas ignored me as I stomped past, car keys and cash in hand, muttering something under my breath and shutting the front door a little too firmly, on my way to the grocery store for more cheese.

As I drove through downtown, muscles tight with anger, I noticed the beauty and warmth of the old brick buildings, the soft golden color of the sunset. My grip on the steering wheel relaxed ever so slightly. I unconsciously raised my shoulders, and let them drop again, as I exhaled a huge and audible breath.

I thought about Hua James Beethoven, then laughed as I realized it was quite possible I had just been Puffed by God.

Rw