Cats have always been my animal. Well, and horses. In some ways, I am a female stereotype, at least as identified by my animal preferences.
It’s not that I didn’t like dogs. I have always enjoyed them, and even maintained a strong attraction to German Shepherds despite one attacking me quite viciously when I was only three years old. My only clear memory of that event was the sight of my father’s plaid shirt changing from white and brown to red as he ran over his shoulder with me from Central Park to the nearest doctor’s office. Still, my brother-in-law’s pastor, Miles, was one of my favorite people.
I have an affinity for other animals at other times in my life, paying close attention when a particular species makes repeated appearances over the course of a few days or weeks. I love the book talk about animals, by Ted Andrews. He writes about animal medicine and advises his reader to stay alert to the lessons that can be learned and what clues can be found to help us further on our journey towards inner knowledge. Medicine comes to us through the spirits that greet us in the form of a hawk, skunk, bear, heron, deer, or coyote. And many more.
But for me, 2013 so far has been very much about dogs. Through a series of circumstances, I have devoted much time to them. different dogs. I move around a lot and I ended up, several times, living, meeting, taking care of dogs.
I have fallen in love with them. My heart has been melted by dogs. Even dogs that are complete strangers, whom I met while visiting a dog park with my sister and her pup Dexter, have found their way into my consciousness and my heart.
So what is the animal magic that dogs have brought me? I’ve been thinking about this.
Live the moment
A dog forgets the full bladder at dawn, the hungry tummy when the human dinner is cooking and no one has come to feed it yet, the slack hours in favor of the laptop, the washing machine or the lawn mower. For a dog, history is gone forever and now is everything. The smell of my flip flops. The blink of laughter outside on the sidewalk. The vision of a favorite human. The feeling of fingers scratching under a tilted chin. A dog’s momentary sensations trump everything else. The past doesn’t make sense. The future doesn’t exist yet, why bother?
Forgiveness
The forgiving nature of a dog relates to living in the moment, as I see it. The two dogs I live with and care for now, Nico (a poodle) and Chini (a lab mix), are loving, affectionate souls who love nothing more than to frolic in the woods with me, lie in the sun at my feet. while I read a book, she leans on me while I watch TV and I scratch them languidly. They have accepted me into their lives as a surrogate mother which they like very much. Sometimes I have to leave them. Life happens. I should try not to leave them for more than 5 hours at a time, if possible, and enlist the help of a neighbor if necessary. One day, I got stuck. Frantic, I watched three hours go by, over my deadline. When I finally got to the driveway, I heard his barking. Clearly, I wasn’t the only one feeling frantic. I sprinted into the house, patted Nico who was literally jumping 4 feet off the ground, released Chini from the box (Nico doesn’t get carried away), apologizing profusely the whole time. The dogs would not leave the house to relieve their bladders until they licked me, caressed me and received my love in return. There was no canine bitterness. No pouting (I mean, admit it, a cat will pout). No attitude. Just love, and forgive outright, as the past was forgotten and the moment of love and release cherished.
Patience
My friend Terri has some dogs. Five, to be exact. Two laboratories. a bulldog An Australian silky. A mix of Chihuahua, Greyhound and something else. Somehow, everything works. Scout, one of the labs, is one of the most long-suffering, calm, and unflappable beasts in the universe. He will lie down on the floor while Lily, the mongrel, inexplicably humps his head with abandon. She will frolic all over the sprawling property with Daisy the terrier, who is 10 times smaller than he is. They run; he waits; Daisy finally catches up; they run a little more. Invariably, they return home together. Rosie the bulldog has a bad temper. Scout refuses to let them laugh. It is true that she is not so patient when meal time approaches, but she is a dog after all.
unconditional love
Bodhi, an extra tall standard poodle with flowing hair and melting eyes, every day like a king, feet perfectly aligned, waiting for his mother, my old friend Annie, to come home. He waits all day. Sometimes he sleeps on the couch. (He occupies half, but when he wants to fit in there with two or more humans, he can cuddle up into a remarkably small package.) This hippie dog’s heart is as big as of gandhi Or Mother Teresa. While she was there for a two-week visit, Bodhi He tuned in with me remarkably quickly. He sensed my sadness, and in a commitment born of his own empathy, he left his mother’s bed in the middle of the night to come sleep in mine. He didn’t do this at first, but after meeting me and caring for me, he became a part of his love action plan. Did he ask for something in return? Not really. But he got my everlasting love. Bodhi loves unconditionally. Dogs know how to do that. They do not question, criticize, doubt or demand. They may ask for pets, and surely find them adequate to be fed on occasion, but in the scheme of things, they give much more than they receive.
Dignity
It’s true that dogs can be pretty dimwitted. They don’t have the finicky standards of a cat. Dogs will roll around in rotten raccoon guts. They will make a scene, barking hysterically at a floating leaf. But now I see these behaviors as endearing in their unbridled enthusiasm for life. Bella, a Swiss Mountain Dog, belonged to my friend Teri for ten years. I met her the day she came home with Teri and hers two daughters of hers, and I’ve known her all her life until her recent death. Bella could be pretty maddening. Eating chocolate, reading glasses, underwear, and a variety of other unorthodox, unhealthy, and indigestible items. But somehow, no matter what mischief she got into, Bella had an inherent dignity. She embodied the qualities of forgiveness, unconditional love, living in the moment, and endless patience for the other dogs in her family as well. But it was her dignity in the face of her adversity that struck me at the end, as she slowly let go of life. Although she wasn’t in terrible pain, she became weaker, more wobbly as the tumors spread through her body. Breathing wasn’t always easy and it hurt to walk. But she woke up every morning to walk through the gardens with her mother, she waited for her daughters to come to say goodbye to her and she left life on her own terms.
Embracing the lessons of dogs in my life is the task I am dealing with this year 2013. I cannot ignore the future and although my mind occasionally erases it, the past still has a strong hold on me. I can easily forgive, except the one most important to forgive: myself, although I’m getting better at it. Patience. That is a good one. My record is patchy there. As a teacher, you could have lots of patience. Patience goes with forgiveness in a way, doesn’t it? And maybe unconditional love, too. Something easy to feel for your children, so difficult to feel for yourself. And finally, I seek my own dignity in the face of errors and blatant failures. “Be patient, forgive yourself, and love yourself,” I hear the dogs say to me, “and live for today. Isn’t today wonderful? And aren’t you lucky to have it?”
