Being Thankful

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I wonder if Aki ever feels thankful. Don’t get me wrong. I am not calling her an ungrateful brat. Since she seems to take everything, the good and the bad, as it comes, I wonder if she has the capacity to be thankful for the good.

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This morning we crossed the glacial moraine to reach the Mendenhall River. I carry a fishing pole but that is not what the trip is about.  This thanksgiving celebration is about the sun burning off lake fog and the raft of common mergansers that dove beneath the waters of Moose Lake when an eagle flew over.  I am thankful for those things and the other moraine beauties. I am also thankful for the little dog’s companionship—the way she stands without apparent judgment, while I cast into the river for trout.

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If she could, Aki would feel thankful for the sunshine that warms her grey curls as she watches my back. She’d be thankful for the grated cheese that somehow landed in her bowl last night and even the dried kibble she had to make do with this morning.  She’d even be thankful for the chance she had yesterday to hunt for scents in the rain.

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