Dogs are great. Bad dogs, if you can really call them that, are perhaps the greatest of them all.
He taught us the art of unqualified love. How to give it, how to accept it. Where there is that, most other pieces fall into place.
A person can learn a lot from a dog, even a loopy one like ours. Marley taught me about living each day with unbridled exuberance and joy, about seizing the moment and following your heart.
There’s no such thing as a bad dog, just a bad owner.
In the English language, it all comes down to this: Twenty-six letters, when combined correctly, can create magic. Twenty -six letters form the foundation of a free, informed society.
If you still think you’re a young pup then you are, no matter what the calendar says.
In a dog’s life, some plaster would fall, some cushions would open, some rugs would shred. Like any relationship, this one had its costs. They were costs we came to accept and balance against the joy and amusement and protection and companionship he gave us.
Dogs are a really amazing eye opener for us humans because their lives are compressed into such a short period, so we can see them go from puppyhood to adolescence to strong adulthood and then into their sunset years in 10 to 12 years. It really drives home the point of how finite all our lives are.
Never slow down, never look back, live each day with adolescent verve and spunk and curiosity and playfulness. If you think you’re still a young pup, then maybe you are, no matter what the calendar says.
A dog is the greatest gift a parent can give a child. OK, a good education, then a dog.
Cats will outsmart dogs every time.
Mostly, he taught me about friendship and selflessness and, above all else, unwavering loyalty.
Sometimes it took a dog with stinky breath and bad manners to help us see what really counts in life. Despite all his flaws, Marley had given us a gift that no amount of money could buy. He gave us the gift of total, complete love. He taught us how to give it and how to accept it. When you have love, most of the other pieces fall into place.
The rhythm of solitude, once so intimidating, began to feel comfortable. Aloneness, I was learning, does not have to equal loneliness.
Whatever false sense of security the contraption had once offered us was gone. Each time we left, even for a half hour, we wondered whether this would be the time that our manic inmate would bust out and go on another couch-shredding, wall-gouging, door-eating rampage. So much for peace of mind.
A dog judges others not by their color or creed or class but by who they are inside. A dog doesn’t care if you are rich or poor, educated or illiterate, clever or dull. Give him your heart and he will give you his.
Yet by some stroke of almost providential good fortune, he became wanted.
That’s when it happened. So fast, in fact, that we didn’t even realize it had happened. All we knew was that one instant we were sitting at a lovely outdoor table toasting the beautiful day, and the next our table was on the move, crashing its way through the sea of other tables, banging into innocent bystanders, and making a horrible, ear-piercing, industrial-grade shriek as it scraped over the concrete pavers.
Children serve as impossible-to-ignore, in-your-face timepieces, marking the relentless march of one’s life through what otherwise might seem an infinite sea of minutes, hours, days, and years.
I figli sono come orologi che non si possono ignorare; segnano l’inesorabile marcia della vita attraverso quello che altrimenti sembrerebbe un infinito are di minuti, ore, giorni, e anni.
Gli amanti degli animali sono una speciale razza umana, generosa di spirito, piena di empatia, forse un po’ incline al sentimentalismo, e con cuori immensi come un cielo senza nuvole.