If we are late in feeding them, they come and look at us. Expectantly.
However, dogs cannot tell tense.
If I tell Pepper that Mia-Mia-Chia-Pia is coming to visit, she will run to the door. Expectantly.
Or if I ask her if she got to go play disc golf with John (because he told me they went earlier that day), she will look at us as if another trip is immanent.
And so I started thinking about the difference between time (something that marks progression) and tense (past, present, future).
And I became curious about what it would be like to live my whole live in present tense just like Pepper does. In the present moment there is no regret about the past; nor, worry about the future. You are fully and deeply engaged in the now—which, if I am referencing Pepper, means you enjoy more fully and rest more deeply.
Our thoughts are like time machines teleporting us forward and back. I don't think this is bad. After all, if I never think about the future I won't have groceries and if I never think about the past then I am likely to repeat old mistakes. I think the danger is when we are never in the now. When we are never fully present in a moment.