I recently returned home to find an amazing display of shredded paper strewn across my living room floor. The torn remnants of People magazine, last week’s New York Times travel section, and various other glossy print media that I intended to peruse at some future point seemed like a festive and colorful assortment of confetti. My feisty dog Charlie walked gingerly over to his cage with his tail tucked between his legs, imploring me with his soulful brown eyes to please him just this once, give him a break. Charlie doesn’t like being alone. He requires constant companionship and becomes increasingly destructive when his needs for exercise, food, and socializing go unmet.
It hardly helps that I work from home. Charlie is used to having me around for mid-morning Frisbee games, afternoon Milk Bone breaks, and late-night walks around the neighborhood. It’s impossible for me to forget my imperfections and flaws as a dog mom when evidence of Charlie’s neglect can be seen all over our house. Chewed up crown molding, tattered TV remotes, torn sofa cushions, half-eaten slippers, and bite marks on the windowsill constantly remind me that I am simply unable to meet all of Charlie’s needs. . The blanket of shredded paper that covers my living room floor certainly brings me to the point. I’m Imperfect I’m Imperfect There are times when I just can’t be all things to all dogs.
I knelt down to pick up the sodden remnants of shredded paper from the rug and, despite my annoyance, felt oddly relieved. I have a bad habit of piling up newspapers, newsletters, journals, and magazines, promising myself that I’ll read them eventually, but somehow never find the right time. The truth is, I have a hard time sitting still long enough to focus on current events and human interest stories aside from my daily ritual of skimming the local news headlines over morning coffee. I feel guilty for my shortcoming and strive to do better. Hoarding is a convenient solution as it allows me to deny my chronic avoidance with the justification that I will eventually be able to read these things, but not today. The amount of messy paperwork is directly proportional to how distracted and overwhelmed I feel in my daily life. The more overwhelmed I feel, the more difficult it is to find the stillness necessary to sit and focus for an extended period of time.
The stack of papers on my kitchen counter looks exactly the same every week. It starts with the Post and Courier, and by mid-week, the Daniel Island News and the Moultrie News have added to the pile, in addition to the various newsletters, newspapers, and magazines that are set up on my counters. By the time the Sunday edition of the New York Times arrives, the pile has grown to such an extent that I consider throwing it all away. It didn’t take me long to realize that Charlie really did me a favor. He solved the problem by cleaning up the unwanted clutter, offering me a guilt-free excuse to get on with my life. I stepped back and admired the clear space of my coffee table and kitchen counters and felt liberated. Charlie shrank into the box from him, smart enough to know he’d transgressed and intuitive enough to sense my rapidly weakening resolve. He looked at me with the deepest remorse and my heart melted like a chocolate bar in the summer sun. I took a moment to look at him closely, and to my surprise, I noticed that Charlie had gotten thicker at the waist. Yes, my dog had put on a few pounds over the Christmas season and maybe I had too. I couldn’t remember the last time we went for a walk together, stopping every few meters to smell the ground or nibble on a blade of grass. It was cold and I was distracted, lost in my busy mind and consumed by endless to-do lists, piles of paperwork and half-finished projects.
It had only been a few months since we abandoned our nightly walking routine with the departure of daylight saving time. The Christmas season has come and gone and the New Year has descended upon us with unprecedented speed. Faded images of the dog days of summer now clutter my memory files like scenes from another life: Charlie chasing tennis balls on the beach, the smell of steaks sizzling on the grill, and moisture so thick you can cut it with a knife. . The tulip bulbs he intended to plant in early fall now gather dust in my garage. It seems like only yesterday that I embarked on my own fall harvest, filling the trunk of my car with bright yellow and orange mums, plastic bags filled with potting soil, various seeds and bulbs before the first winter chill. I envisioned so many roots of promise breaking through the damp soil below me and burrowing deep into the earth, blossoming and blooming in spring with bursts of color and fragrance. The concept of time is elusive; the less attention we pay to it, the faster it seems to pass between our fingertips. There are times to plant and times to reflect. Perhaps Charlie’s destructiveness is my own personal wake-up call.
As I stood in my living room in the middle of my lightbulb moment, I reviewed the events of the past week. Heavy rains caused deep mud puddles in our backyard and Charlie enjoyed digging and splashing in the mud, resulting in muddy paws, soggy wet towels, dirty pant legs, and messy floors. Just the day before I found Charlie standing on our backyard fence caught in a feverish barking frenzy while the neighbor’s kids jumped on a trampoline. He even took to digging in the mud by the fence in a mad attempt to tunnel into the next yard and join in the fun. When the kids went back to school, Charlie developed an obsession with his backyard. He refused to play Frisbee, catch a ball, or go about his daily canine activities. Instead, he froze in his tracks, his eyes fixed on a spot beyond the fence where he had last seen children play.
I was upset with Charlie for these offenses because they took me away from my day job and reduced my work time. It took a remarkable act of rebellion for Charlie to get my attention, and for this I was ultimately very grateful. “Come on big guy” I said in a moment of impulse. I grabbed Charlie’s leash and headed for the door. He ran out of his box, his tail wagging and his brown eyes smiling at me as if to say, “Thanks mom, I thought you’d never ask me.” I tossed the shredded papers into the bin and we walked down the street in the cool of the afternoon, Charlie jogging happily by my side as he regained my center and was reminded of the value of these simple and precious moments in life. We find a new path that leads to a bridge over a swamp where the stillness is palpable and we continue together, walking in silence in the gloomy light of sunset.
