"Aren't you the cutest dog?" I asked the chubby brindle pit bull mix walking down the sidewalk.

Objectively, she was not the cutest dog, I suppose. But there is no such thing as an ugly dog, as we all know. She was wearing a brand-new jacket with colorful pockets and a hood and, to top it off, had matching booties. She looked a little self-conscious -- as we all are when we get dressed up for the first time in a while -- and I thought she could use a little reassurance.

"I wasn't sure she would wear the booties," her owner confessed.

The dog looked at me seriously, as if she understood. The booties might be a bridge too far, even on a very cold day. But this barrel-shaped brindle pup was dancing on the cold pavement, happy to meet me, booties all but forgotten.

"She loves meeting new people," her owner explained, unnecessarily.

I love seeing the dogs in the winter.

Of course, this is the time of year that long-haired dogs are finally getting comfortable. They stroll at a leisurely pace. They roll in the snow. They walk with their noses under the snow, sniffing the mysterious world beneath the surface. They scoop up big mouthfuls of snow as they go, cruising along with their tongues firmly inside their mouths for the first time in months. They are utterly at home in the snow, as if the warm months of the past were an aberration and we are now back to normal.

But the short-haired dogs suffer. They shiver and hop from one foot to the other and look as if the whole notion of taking a walk in these temperatures was neither their idea nor something they approved of. Their owners decide that what they need is a jacket and, usually, the jacket is a mixed success.

The little dogs still seem cold, even in their jackets. I saw a greyhound with a jacket over a sweater. He didn't look cold, but he looked deeply embarrassed. I've seen dogs in Santa costumes and fancy hand-knitted Guatemalan sweaters and expensive gear that looked like it was designed for trekking up Mount Everest. None of the jackets look as if they fit very well. They are all held on with straps and clips and usually are drifting to one side or the other, or threatening to come off entirely. The booties almost never stay on long.

Just down the block, I met a short-haired terrier walking with a man I chat with regularly. The terrier was not in a jacket and, when he saw me coming, I could see the pleading in his eyes. "Please do not make my owner stop and talk!" I tried not to talk too long as the terrier hopped from one cold paw to the other and shivered disapprovingly.

"He needs a jacket!" I said to the terrier's owner, but I could tell neither owner nor terrier was crazy about the idea.

Which is why the brindle pit bull's ensemble was so impressive.

She looked as if she was planning to model it in a dog catalog. Her slightly pudgy frame filled out the jacket and kept it in place. Her little booties kept her off the cold snow and sharp sand and biting salt. She was perfectly decked out and, I suspect, she had an idea of exactly how adorable she was.

"You are the cutest dog in town!" I announced. The stubby dog was pleased. Her owner was proud. And -- at that moment -- I think it might almost have been true.

Till next time,

Carrie

Photos from the column can be found at CarrieClasson.com.

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A couple of days ago, a friend of mine posted something written by a friend of his on Facebook. This is what she had to say:

“I’ve been contemplating what I really miss in life. Why do I feel this empty space? I have not felt completely full in a very long time. I miss the outdoors ... a good hike, fishing or camping. No radio, cellphone, TV, movies or internet. Just the birds, the river running ... just the sound of crickets.

“I miss a good, deep, solid conversation about life, God and love. All the things that truly matter! The world has changed so much with technology that we don’t even know each other anymore. We don’t have time for each other anymore. You turn on the evening news and all you hear is bad news. Shootings and crime have skyrocketed, and it’s become the norm.

“We can no longer trust emails or use our debit cards without worry of scams or fraud. We can no longer leave a door unlocked or a window open.

“I miss the world I grew up in. Where people had time for each other. Where conversations mattered. Where there was respect for each other. When people knew what was right and wrong. Sometimes I honestly want to throw my cell phone out the window but realize I have to use it to contact the ones I love.

“This new world has swallowed us up and there is not a damn thing we can do about it. Am I the only one who ever feels this way?

“Signed,

“Krissy”

I don’t know Krissy, but I wrote a letter to her anyway. This is what I said:

“Dear Krissy,

“I think you should pull your tent out of storage and go camping this week. Unless you live up north. Then you might go snowshoeing in the woods. That’s fun, too.

“Shootings and crime have not skyrocketed -- although reporting of them has. If you look at the statistics, you are actually far less likely to come to a violent end or die of disease than at any time in human history.

“But it does not sound like you are enjoying your smartphone. Maybe you should get a simple phone instead. They cost less, and you can still make phone calls. And use a credit card for online purchases instead of a debit card. Then you don’t need to worry so much.

“Meaningful conversations are there to be had. Sometimes you have to start them. I think you made an excellent start with this post. Maybe try again, but this time at your kitchen table with a friend and a cup of coffee.

“Krissy, you sound anxious, and I’m sorry. The world has not swallowed you. Meditation helps. Exercise helps. Being clear on your purpose in the world and helping others helps a lot. Life has never been perfect for anyone. But we have never had anywhere near as many years as we now get to enjoy life -- or not. It’s your choice. And, yes, you can do something about it.

“All the best,

“Carrie”

As I said, I don’t know Krissy. I don’t suppose she read what I wrote, and, if she did, I’m not sure she would care. We get invested in our beliefs, even if they aren’t making us happy.

But I wanted to tell her that every one of us gets frustrated and discouraged and sometimes feels things are going down the tubes. I wanted to tell her she was not alone.

And I wanted to wish her a happier New Year.

Till next time,

Carrie

Photos from the column can be found at CarrieClasson.com.

DISTRIBUTED BY ANDREWS MCMEEL SYNDICATION FOR UFS

A new year is coming, and I am focusing on the small stuff.

It is popular to make big, sweeping statements in a new year about the things that will change and be accomplished. I noticed a few years back that these grand announcements rarely had much effect.

What mattered, if I wanted to live a different kind of life, was the little things I did every day. I take my walk. I write a few words. I do my pushups. I've gotten used to watching in amazement how a tiny action, done daily, leads me to a place that seemed impossible just a few months earlier.

What I didn't notice until recently is that it works the same way with little rewards. Small things make my life better in surprisingly big ways.

It all started with my soap.

Every day, I wash my hands several times and, every day, I use whatever soap I found that was on sale. If a package of six bars cost 50 cents less, that was the one I would buy. But while I was in Mexico, I bought a good bar of soap that cost a lot more -- still less than a cup of coffee -- but much more than I usually paid.

"Wow! My hands smell good."

They felt good, too. I wondered why the heck I hadn't done this long ago. I thought of all the years I never got one moment's enjoyment out of washing my hands, and I wondered why on Earth that was. I went back to the store. I bought six bars. I gave some as gifts at Christmas. I stockpiled some for my own use. I decided -- in this new year -- I was going to treat myself to a wonderful bar of soap every time I washed my hands.

Then I got a new coffee cup.

Why did I go for so many years using whatever old cup was in the cupboard instead of realizing what a nice thing it is to have a pretty cup? My new cup is lovely. It doesn't drip when I drink from it. It is brightly painted and handmade. It gives me a little pleasure every time I use it and I use it all morning long.

I thought of some of the larger purchases I'd made over the years that had given me very little pleasure. I thought of the purses and dresses that I rarely use, always imagining some special occasion when I would need them. The special occasion either never comes, or it ends up being a lot less special than I imagined. But a nice coffee cup? That cup gives me pleasure every day all day long.

Big stuff, I have decided, is overrated.

The little place we rent in Mexico with the slightly worse-for-wear Formica countertop and the mismatched furniture is perfect. It is not fancy. It is small. It reminds me that simple is easier and I don't need big. It reminds me how little is enough.

So, in this new year, I am focusing on the small things -- both the little things I do and the little things that surround me every day. I'm focusing on the things that consistently bring me joy -- the fresh flowers on my desk, my colorful new coffee cup, the smell of good soap. The moments of joy add up and make my day better. The days add up to make a happier life.

Now I just have to figure out what to do with a year's supply of cheap soap.

Till next time,

Carrie

Photos from the column can be found at CarrieClasson.com.

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