This is Magpie pictured to the right being as comfortable in her own skin as a dog can be. We, the moms, managed to keep her off the bed for the first four years of her life; but, as you can see, she has claimed the bed. Maggie is a long, big dog, but she does not realize this fact. When she needs to stretch out, she stretches out. No questions asked, no self scrutiny, and no regrets. She assesses the situation: open bed. She plugs her needs into the situation: need to stretch out on something big and soft. She seizes the opportunity after a quick risk vs. benefit (risk = moms not present to yell at me vs. benefit = soft, cozy bed), and onto the bed she jumps and sprawls out.
Later, when the moms enter the room, and she hears the word, "no," she reacts. No longer is her emphasis on stretching, the focus becomes staying out of hot water. No guilt. She just handles the crisis as it unfolds. The moms are upset, how do I calm them down. Oh, jump off the bed, plop down on my face, and get really cute. Problem solved. The word from the moms morph from "no, bad dog" into "good girl" and the universe has realigned herself.
Dogs do what they do, not out of ignorance, but out of a very sophisticated implementation of doggy risk management. They have excellent cognitive powers of recall, i.e., extensive memories. They remember the really important details: the sound of the moms' car engine, the time of morning and evening feedings, that the toy has to go out of doors with them or they don't get to play. Dogs have mastered risk management in ways that corporations that spend millions each year on the subject have not.
I am so proud of my furry children. They have the most loving, generous natures but how can I disagree with a rationale that mirrors what I teach people in the work place each and every day; a philosophy that I myself have found immensely useful for the past twenty years? If anything, I long to embrace their method of managing life and their success at living in the moment.

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