We're All Just Stories In The End

A few night ago, one my dogs chewed up a piece of my blanket that I keep on my bed.  It’s my favorite out of two lightweight blankets that I use during warmer months when my down comforter is just too hot.  Since getting my dogs I've allowed them on the bed because I want them to feel comfortable there.  I like it when they snuggle up beside me while I’m reading a book or taking a nap, although they don’t sleep with me at night...So, the dogs feel welcome on the bed and usually if they are on the bed I know they aren't getting into any trouble.  This time, however, one of them was in DEEP trouble.

            I entered my bedroom to find Rufus, the younger dog, to be chewing on the edge of the blanket, not a corner that could be hidden or an inconspicuous hole, but right along the edge and I was LIVID.  I swore at him and dragged him down the stairs to where his crate was and continued to berate him.  Even afterwards I found myself muttering under my breath that I couldn't believe that he had done that, and I was SO mad at him.  I was almost consumed by the fact that my blanket was no longer "nice."

After I had cooled down a bit I began to wonder—why did this upset me so much?  The blanket still works and I can still use it.  Would I prefer to have a perfect blanket and no puppy snuggles?  And to top it all off the blanket was given to me for FREE—so it wasn't as though I had lost some financial investment.  This made me feel a bit like Jonah and his vine. 

I've noticed this kind of behavior in myself over the years—something gets a tear or a stain, a little piece of paint chips off or, worst of all, a page gets bent and in my mind it’s RUINED.  Done.  Finito.  That’s the ball game.  What purpose does this attitude serve?  Why does it matter so much?  And why do I feel the need to carry around the burden of making sure nothing gets damaged?

As I examined the frayed edges of my blanket again, a thought occurred to me:  I could stop using this blanket, turn it into a “dog blanket” OR I could keep using this blanket and see that little frayed area as a part of my story.  All those little flaws and imperfections gives a clue about my life, what happened to me, what is important to me; the dog eared book that was obviously read and re-read, the dent in my car from the time I slid on some ice and (safely) came to a stop against a tree, and in this case, the blanket that took some damage so I could snuggle with my dogs.

I’ll probably remember that Rufus chewed on that blanket every time I see that frayed edge – The question is will I allow it to make me angry?  Or will it I allow it to tell part of my story?