During this Thanksgiving week, some will say – that the year has been unkind, with losses too high, worries too many, friends too few, days too cold, not enough new, and growing old. Banish those thoughts, here and now. Think afresh about how – lucky we are.

Charles Schultz used to pen his Peanuts cartoons, Snoopy always the happy one, never more than at Thanksgiving, that irrepressibly grateful, humble, quick-to-wag dog.

Truth is, my own drawings are bad, so you will find no witty things under nicely sketched cartoon kids or dogs, but I have one – a happy dog. And like Snoopy, he teaches gratitude.

Teaches? Yes, in a manner of speaking. Like Snoopy, he does not know what he does not know, defaults to wagging, perpetually happy, eager to be patted, fed, and let run.

Snoopy would say, in Schultz’s way, “Happiness is being with friends … sharing … a side dish of French fries … a long nap … dancing in the rain …” My dog would get it. He eats blueberries – in summer, carefully pulls them from the low bushes.

He looks for the best in visitors, sometimes daydreams and ponders paddling ducks, sure he could catch them, his one flop ear saying, “aw shucks.” He is a protector, a touch of Tom Sawyer, loves adventure and is non-judgmental – except about the talkative parakeet.

Dogs know what they know, nothing more, yet are grateful. Snoopy reminds us: “Keep looking up, that’s the secret of life” and “Be yourself, no one can say you are doing it wrong.”

Says Snoopy, the quintessential dog: “I don’t have time to worry about who doesn’t like me, I’m too busy loving the people who love me” and “There’s no sense in doing a lot of barking … if you don’t really have anything to say.” Wisdom. 

 “Quite often lately, I have the feeling I don’t know what’s going on,” Snoopy observes, then trots on, wagging, indifferent to everyone’s anxiety. Or this dog nugget: “We only die once. We live every day.” Accurate, laconic, prescriptive.

Closer to home, my dog is perpetually happy, reminding me to be happy – and grateful for everything, especially him. He does not know he beat cancer this year – fully. He does not know a creative veterinarian gave him years. He does not know he gets soft food with intention, not dry, more appreciated. He does not ask why.

Like Snoopy, my dog lingers at my feet and looks up with love and laughter in his eyes, beyond grateful, lovable, dashing, and playful, he gives an air of being wise. He has no time for TV, every moment is to seize, his pointer’s leg up on walks, nose to the breeze.

He knows nothing about the world, but is happy – invariably grateful. And that is the point: We know far more and know the balance is good.  We know beauty in each sunrise and promise in each day. We know the sunset’s glow, understand refraction, and God’s gifts.

Where my dog is simple, untroubled by worry, except for chasing chipmunks, we are people. We know we have countless things to be grateful for, family, friends, art, a book, the sweet satisfaction of choosing food, and what we cook. We have speech and prayer, traditions and work, know what we believe, and awake each day with something to achieve.

We have the power to recall memories and choose what we elevate. We have choices, we can grab coffee, tackle what lies ahead, or stay in bed. We have opposable thumbs, swim in an ocean of opportunities, and do not live in a cloister; the world is our oyster.

Not so a dog. Yet there he is, grateful to be alive, secure at my feet, getting attention, then running to exhaustion, panting and wagging, and looking up as if to say, “What a day!” 

We awake with a chance to help others, make the day purposeful, help someone overcome something, get closer to their dream, settle their heart, listen, and soothe.

We can choose how we live each day, choose to forgive, make a call, help someone manage an unmanageable pile, give them a reason to laugh, rest, and offer a smile.

These things all lie in our power, no matter age, health, religion, strife, or complexity of life. We are given the gift of giving, the gift of purpose. Dogs do not have it, yet they are happy.

We have so many gifts to be thankful for, freedoms not known to most, a chance to see the world from our living room, or to travel, speak, sing, and pray. We can be creative, paint, write, garden, puzzle, use words and numbers, and in a thousand ways shine – unlike a canine.

Bottom line: My dog, like Snoopy, is somehow always happy. Schultz was onto something. It was this. If dogs can be happy, default to gratitude, grateful for what they see, so can we.

Robert Charles is a former Assistant Secretary of State under Colin Powell, former Reagan and Bush 41 White House staffer, attorney, and naval intelligence officer (USNR). He wrote “Narcotics and Terrorism” (2003), “Eagles and Evergreens” (2018), and is National Spokesman for AMAC. Robert Charles has also just released an uplifting new book, “Cherish America: Stories of Courage, Character, and Kindness” (Tower Publishing, 2024).