Valentines' Fire

Love is not only the vast complexity of everything everyone ever experi­ences, nor even the gently swelling ocean of peace and companionship that is life with one's spouse. It is also the in­ferno of engagement and transformation.
It was in this spirit that one February 14 I decided to pass on my knowledge of fire­making to all 13 house dogs. "Can canines learn?" I wondered. "Can anybody learn?"
They had been showing interest for a while. Most of them, as street dogs, had never known that luxuriating, belly-roll­ing, contentedly stretching blessing that pours out of the fireplace in a holy torrent of warmth and inclusion. And boy, once you get over the fear, it beats TV hands down.
"Nothing like a roaring fire of an eve­ning to warm the cockles of the heart," say the dogs. So they started trying to help. I'd go to make a fire, and there'd be a small pile of ripped up paper, a collection of chewed-on sticks. At first I thought it was just another example of the canine lust for destruction, but then I twigged...
Come Valentine's Eve I was ready. "Gather round," I commanded, and they did, all eagerness and interest, noses point­ing in the right direction. "Yeah yeah yeah!" they panted, as I ripped up some old newspaper and threw it in the grate. "Oh boy, we can do this!" they enthused, watch­ing me break sticks and lay them in a heap. "Chew those logs!" they cheered as I built the flammable edifice.
"Now here's the good part," I said, reach­ing for the matches. Appealing doggy eyes gleamed with interest. I opened the box, took out a match, held it out for their inspection.
Mass recoil, like boys from a bath! Dogs looking shifty, turning up their noses; they did not like the smell of sulphur nor the look of this weird little stick.
And in the act of striking the match we all had a terrible realization. No dog can ever make a fire. This may be a good thing, but the sad and limiting truth is that those paws were not made for gripping, and without the famous opposable thumb no dog will ever cross the line at Monte Carlo, build a par­ticle accelerator or burn down the house.
Not without help, anyway. So as we contemplate love this month (or any month, come to that), let's spare some morsels for those underprovided crea­tures with those oh-so-cute but sadly limited paws. Paws for thought - and thumbs up for compassion!