The old adage “have someone eating out of the palm of your hand” doesn’t mean what most people think it means.
I know it’s supposed to mean that you have someone believing your lies, but that’s not true.
Since Janet died last year I’ve been feeding our little Chihuahua who is 12 years old. Her boyfriend, a fifteen-year-old chiweenie, died about six months ago. Since then she won’t eat unless I scoop the dog food into my palm and let her munch from my hand. She eats about two hands full then turns away. Her boyfriend would keep gobbling away as long as there was food in front of him, but she knows when to stop. That’s good because her little legs couldn’t support more than her five-pound weight.
I’ve never liked to have a dog licking me too much nor have I liked to hear a dog slurping or crunching. Since this has become our nightly routine, I don’t mind so much. In fact, it’s rather soothing. She has not bought into a bunch of lies I have told her. She trusts me completely to have good food in my palm ready for her to eat. It’s reassuring to know this little creature relies on me. It’s a responsibility. It’s my goal never to let her down.
It’s like the forty-four years I had with Janet. Sometimes I ate out of her hand. (Not literally, figuratively. Think about feeding the soul.) Sometimes she ate out of my hand. We knew we were safe in each other’s palms. Mostly we fed each other, not self-consciously but knowing this was the way it was supposed to be.
So when I sit there at night with the tiny dog eating out of and then licking my palm, I know Janet is still feeding my soul from her hand.