I know animals live in the moment, but the last 18 months with the four legged beast I call the Moose have really brought that home to me. Tonight I was trying to imagine her as an old lady dog, calm, serene, a distinct absence of exuberant bounciness. Couldn’t do it. I sit here on the couch, the dog curled into a croissant next to me, nose to paws to feet. She is blissfully silent right now. But when I get up to go to bed, she’ll perk up again. She will bunny hop with delight to the bed, turn around three times and snore until I join her. Then she’ll walk over to me and snuggle, nose buried in the crevice between my neck and the pillow, until I push her off the bed.

Every morning is the first morning. The joy that it is light, that I have awoken again, that I am standing up, dressing, walking toward the stairs — it’s ecstasy in the form of a large dog. As I dress, she tries to grab each item of clothing so that perhaps we can get a game of “chase me”, wherein she has something unauthorized and we chase her around the house. Dogs can exhibit glee. I’ve seen it in her eyes when she has a sock in her mouth. If I don’t get up before she does, she stands over me on the bed, her nose near mine, ears perky and breath on me until I open my eyes. Then it’s game on: she’ll start pouncing, play bowing, skittering back and forth across the bed as if I’m a puppy at the dog park. A small one, because the big ones freak her out. If I’m coherent enough to be smart, I pull the sheet over my eyes. Eventually she sighs and lies down again until I decide to get up.

Once I’m awake and dressed, Ruby’s toes splay, she jumps onto the bannister and looks down into the entry hall before leaping towards the top stair so she can gallop down the ahead of me. Sometimes, she goes so fast, she falls down the last few steps. She skids on the tile floor by the front door, often surfing the rug in the hall into a corner. Her ears by now inside out from all the activity (we refer to this as her Martha Washington look), she bunny-hops to the Foosball table, on top of which is the giant container of dog food and all the puzzles which dispense her food: She eats too fast from a bowl, so there are feeding cubes and treat dispensing toys. As I fill a toy — usually a large purple rubber squirrel that can keep her busy for about 30 minutes — she continues to hop about, squeaking like a mouse, whining like a toddler. She only quiets down when I’ve handed the squirrel to her.

The next bit of excitement is when she senses a walk is imminent. You can get her riled up by announcing it — Darling Son says, “Walkity-walk” in a high pitched voice that sends her into a tizzy — or just go to the basket of bags, pull one out and move toward the leash. Often, she’s too excited to sit still long enough to be leashed. I don’t know what the longest time I’ve waited for her to settle is — maybe 10 minutes. I’ve given up before and bailed on the walk. Mostly now I just grab her collar, command a sit, and leash her. She bounces out the door, one ear inverted, tongue out, ready to great the day. I can hear her voice in my head: “OMG!!” — she is a teenage girl, after all. “Can you believe it? It’s another day!! And look!! It’s the outside!! It’s still here! Just like last night!!!” She probably would add more exclamation points if she were writing.

Every moment of her life is like this. Every time a person she loves comes over — she has a huge thing for the Wasband, for Mia and for the couple who have cleaned my house for the last 14 years. I’m afraid in her excitement she will take them down and break a hip one day. When trainer Ali comes, it takes about several long minutes for her to quiet enough to merit a pat and a treat.

It is impossible to imagine my moose girl in a somber mood, or even being quietly contemplative. Our Late Beloved Katie was a happy dog. Sometimes her tail wagged so hard she’d fall down. But she was quietly dignified in her happiness. Granted, we got her when she was already three, but I bet Ruby maintains her level of excitement about, well, the world and all its contents, for a good long time. It’s just her goofy personality.

I could wring some meaning out of this with some trite statement about living in the now or how everyone should be as excited about something or other as she is about anything or everything. But today I’m just going to let this be simply a tribute to the over-exuberant four-legged beast with which I share my house.