It was cold, dark, and snowy this evening when I observed my quiet hour, listening to music, meditating, doing some reading. I am always touched by how dogs enter our lies and become what we need them to become, given a chance.

I’ve only recently realized how much a part of my quiet hour they are.

The purpose is to serve human beings and support us in our lives.  That is how they connected with humans thousands of years ago; that is how they prosper and survive. They have become astonishingly good at it.

There is a nobility to it, but also a Darwinian evolution. There is a reason we take such good care of them when we are so cruel and indifferent to so many other species of animals in the world.

When meditation begins, I sometimes put on my earphones and only realize that it signals them to lie down and be still.

Zinnia usually lies down at my feet; sometimes, she moves to the base of the dining room table and curls up. When I get up, she gets up. Fate, usually so active and alert, curls up by the fireplace. Both dogs can keep a close eye on me.

They have become a part of the quiet, the silence, the meditation. Bud sits on his wicker throne and snores. None of them move until I do, and none of them breaks the quiet, except for Fate, who sometimes barks when an Amish buggy comes clipping by.

The sleeping dogs signal peace and contemplation, they are supporting me by joining in, and I very much appreciate them. They could so easily disrupt the peace.