Rescuer or rescued?
Each morning I have a container of yogurt with my breakfast and when I finish my dog, Elsa, is waiting expectantly to lick the container clean of any remnant. I give her the container, believing myself to be a magnanimous benefactor, spoiling my dog. Lately, I wonder if she views it same way. Perhaps her perspective is that it is her job to clean up after me and that without her I would be hopelessly lost. I suppose there is a grain of truth in both perspectives. Because, truth be told, I would be a bit lost without my Elsa. She is always here for me, she waits up for me or my daughter when we are out late. She welcomes me home to an otherwise empty house with enthusiasm. She alerts me to otherwise unannounced visitors. She encourages me to get out and get moving. She brings humor to my days. And me, I give her treats, water, food, car rides and when the weather is good a run. Elsa is known as a “rescue” dog; meaning, I got her from the