My dog ate my serenity.
I first realized something was wrong when I was carrying a basket of clean clothes from the laundry room to the bedroom. Things were a little too still. A little too quiet. An uneasy feeling hung in the air. I set down the basket and listened, and I heard a muffled crunching sound coming from the kitchen. I peered over the bar and, sure enough, there was my dog with his front paws and muzzle buried under his pillow, frozen, his big brown guilt-ridden eyes staring into mine. I picked up the pillow and there, mangled and soggy on the dirty kitchen floor, was my serenity.
It was my fault really. I left it unguarded. Usually I try to protect my serenity, keep it safe from harm. But yesterday I set it down on a bookcase, discarded it briefly, while I cleaned the house and stressed about work. I was going to pick it back up again. I was, I promise. But I let go of it just long enough.
My dog found my serenity. He saw it lying there, unattended, and he took it. Who could blame him really? Who among us could resist a little free serenity? Who, I challenge you, would have been able to walk away? My pup took my serenity, laid down in his favorite spot, and devoured it. And, for those few moments of uninterrupted chewing, he was blissfully happy. Until I took his serenity away.
Now my serenity is perched high on a shelf, where no one else can touch it. Actually, I can't touch it either. It is just out of my reach. But I will not give up. I have plans for getting it back. Soon serenity will be mine again.