Luke has a charmed life—plush beds, a soft lawn, and slices of salmon. He’s living the dream, though he doesn’t know it. Doesn’t every dog wake to the sound of chirping birds? To the jingle of kibbles?

“GOOD MORNING, MOM!!”

He does his morning duty, then gallops back inside, grinning wide. “Breakfast time!” He sits tall while I prepare his meal: a bowl of Science Diet kibbles—chicken or beef. The same dish, twice a day, still sparks the same boundless joy. A dimple creases the corner of his mouth, forming an adorable question mark.  Sometimes I want to stop mid-task just to kiss him.

“Luke, you are so cute!”

He squirms with impatience. “I know, but hurry!”

To make his breakfast special, I pour warm bone broth over the kibble and stir. “Mummy is so proud.” He ignores my chatter; eyes locked on the bowl. He watches me drizzle broth with the scrutiny of a wine connoisseur. When I finally set it down, he lunges into his feast—tail wagging in overdrive. Lamb kibbles again! One more bite. One more lick. Scrape the bowl clean. Done. Thank you, Momma!

Then he freezes.
Time to bring a gift.

A retriever at heart, Luke noses through his toy box, pulls out his stuffed elephant, and prances back. The trunk bounces like a pipe as he tap-dances around the kitchen.
Let’s play elephant today!

“Do you have Elefante, Luke?” I add a little Spanish for fun. He loves to tease, brushing close but whisking the toy away with a flick of his head whenever I reach. “Can Mummy have a turn?”

He freezes with understanding.

“Boo Hoo Hoo,” I fake cry and turn my knuckles to the beat of fake tears. Puzzled, Luke stares at me. Who ate Mom? Then he trots off with Elefante and plops onto his bed.

Our mornings unfold in dialogue—about what I must do, and what he must do.
“Mummy has to go for a ride today, Luke.”
He tilts his boxy head, as if to say: I would love to go for a ride. My mind connects impossible dots (especially on hot days) to bring him to work with me. Even with windows open, a dog cannot regulate body temperature and cool down in a car as we can. One time I left him for a very short period in his travel crate. When I rushed back and popped the trunk, he popped his head out of the sunroof with bedhead and a panting smile that said—it was kind of clammy in here. Please remember that I can’t sweat the way people can. But I’m over it, Momma! I still love and forgive you. Let’s go for a walk now.

Luke is so pure and innocent. He always sees the good in me. It’s what dogs do. I think about the difference between our agendas. His: breakfast, bone chewing, shrub sniffing, napping, socializing, one more nap, walking. Mine: teaching, errands, deadlines, housework, appointments.

While I chase lists, Luke chases joy. And maybe—just maybe—he’s got the better plan.

Wake up grateful. Eat with gusto. Bring a gift. Play elephant. Nap like it’s your job. Forgive each other. Repeat tomorrow.

Luke’s To-Do List: 

1. Wake up wagging.

2. Kiss Mom with my eyeballs.

3. Eat kibbles like a champion.

4. Deliver elephant. (Important.)

5. Nap aggressively.

6. Forgive freely.

7. Repeat steps 1–6 forever.

I feel like I’m onto him.

Write to Amy at [email protected]

Follow Luke on IG @livingwithlukevalentino