The other day I was out in the garden watering my plants when I noticed a beautiful bunch of pink flowers that had suddenly bloomed.
My immediate instinct was to pick a few and put them in a vase, which of course I did.
And naturally, Lana was following me the whole time.
She follows me when I'm watering the garden. She follows me when I'm making coffee. She follows me when I'm folding laundry.
Honestly, at this point I don't know whether I have a golden retriever or a very fluffy personal assistant.
As I arranged the flowers in the vase, I looked down at Lana and thought, "Do you want to smell them too, Lana?" I was holding my phone at the time, so I lifted the flowers towards her and snapped a quick photo.
The flowers looked lovely. The light was perfect.
Except Lana wasn't really interested in the flowers at all. Not even a little.
Instead, she kept looking at me. Not the flowers. Not the camera.
Me.
I moved the flowers. Her eyes followed me. I lowered my hand. Still me. I tried again. Same result.
And standing there, I suddenly realised something.
The flower was never the point.
To me, it was the interesting thing in the room. To Lana, I was.
Because if I'm honest, I spend a lot of my life looking at the flowers.
Not actual flowers. The things. The goals. The plans. The next thing that needs to be done. The things I think will finally make me feel organised, successful or caught up.
Yet when I look at Lana, none of those things seem particularly important to her.
She doesn't care how productive the day was. She doesn't care whether I ticked everything off my to-do list. She doesn't care if I'm successful. She doesn't care if I got everything right.
She cares if I'm there.
That's it. That's the thing that matters most to her.
And maybe that's why dogs have a way of pulling us back into the present. Because while we're busy looking ahead, they're still standing in the moment we're already in.
Maybe that's why some of life's most meaningful moments don't feel important when they're happening. They're too ordinary. Too small. Too easy to overlook.
Until one day you realise those ordinary moments were the ones that mattered all along.
A dog resting beside you. A quiet afternoon. A flower in your hand. A golden retriever reminding you that the flower was never the point.
The person holding it was.
And perhaps that's one of the greatest gifts our dogs give us. They have a way of making us feel like we matter simply because we exist. Not because of what we've achieved. Not because of what we own. Not because of what we've done.
Just because we're us.
To Lana, I wasn't holding the important thing.
I was the important thing.
And honestly, I think we all need that reminder sometimes. ♡
