Grandma Greta was jumping like a bunny when I told her it was time to go to church.
Every Easter morning one of the dogs joins me for a community sunrise service over at the beach in town.
I zipped Greta up inside my down jacket and we hustled over to the already raging bonfire.
“You’re the 100th canine parishioner,” Greta was told as she popped her head out long enough to greet the ushers who gave her a dog biscuit and me a program.
“And you’re also the smallest!”
Greta showed that toothy grin.
Luckily, they didn’t remind her she was by far the oldest.
Greta and I scanned the crowd of hoodie clad teens, loving labs and boisterous border collies. We both then found a spot and settled in.
Greta and I especially loved the guitar music and the sweet young singers.
And Greta’s ears grew wide as she listened to the short sermon on gratitude.
I do know she was mighty thankful for that dog biscuit as we’d rushed out the door without breakfast.
But soon it was time for communion.
And that was definitely a first for Greta.
Due to the amorous and glamorous Doberman behind us, I thought it best if I continued to keep Greta zipped up while we patiently waited our turn in line.
As we approached the minister, Greta showed her head, and her grace by sharing a piece of bread with me and politely passing on the red wine.
“Good girl,” I whispered.
After the service, Greta chased after a crazy collie on the sand for a while.
Then she sat down.
I caught her looking up at the sky as the brillant sun rose overhead.
Greta appeared grateful to experience another beautiful sunrise in her 16th year of life.
Maybe she really was listening to that sermon after all.