Cats have always been my animal. Well, and horses. In a way, 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 even though one attacked 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 jogged me over his shoulder from Central Park to the nearest doctor’s office. Still, my brother-in-law’s pastor, Miles, was one of my favorite people.
I feel 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 be alert to what lessons can be learned and what clues can be found to help us advance on our path to inner knowledge. Medicine comes to us through the spirits that greet us in the form of a hawk, a skunk, a bear, a heron, a deer or a coyote. And many more.
But for me, 2013 so far has been very much about dogs. Through a series of circumstances, I have devoted a lot of time to them. Different dogs. I move around a lot and 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 completely strange dogs, whom I met while visiting a dog park with my sister and her pup, Dexter, have found their way into my consciousness and 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 belly when the human dinner is cooking and no one has come to feed it yet, the hours of neglect in favor of the laptop, the washing machine or the lawnmower. For a dog, history is gone forever and now is everything. The smell of my flip flops. The flicker of laughter outside on the sidewalk. The vision of a favorite human. The sensation of fingers scratching under a tilted chin. A dog’s sensations of the moment trump everything else. The past is meaningless. The future doesn’t exist yet, why bother?
Sorry
A dog’s forgiving nature 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, caring souls who love nothing more than romping in the woods with me, laying in the sun at my feet. while I’m reading a book, he leans against me while I watch TV and I languidly scratch them. They have accepted me into their lives as a surrogate mother who 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 if necessary, enlist the help of a neighbor. One day, I got stuck. Frantic, I watched three hours go by, over my deadline. When I finally made it to the driveway, I heard her barking. Clearly, I wasn’t the only one feeling frantic. I sprinted toward the house, patted Nico who was literally jumping 4 feet off the ground, released Chini from the crate (Nico doesn’t get crated), apologizing profusely the whole time. The dogs didn’t leave the house to relieve their bladders until they licked me, petted me, and received my love in return. There was no canine acrimony. No pouting (I mean, admit it, a cat will pout). No attitude. Just love, and flatly forgive, 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 labs. a bulldog. An Australian silkie. A mix of Chihuahua, Greyhound and something else. Somehow it all works. Scout, one of the Labs, is one of the most long-suffering, calm and unflappable beasts in the universe. He will lay on the floor while Lily, the mongrel, inexplicably hums his head with abandon. She will romp around the sprawling property with Daisy the terrier, who is 10 times his size. 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 be laughed at. It is true that she is not so patient when it comes to feeding time, but after all she is a dog.
unconditional love
Bodhi, an extra tall standard poodle with flowing hair and melting eyes, every day like a king, feet perfectly lined up, waiting for his mother, my old friend Annie, to come home. He waits all day. Sometimes he sleeps on the sofa. (He occupies half, but when he wants to fit in there with two or more humans, he can snuggle up into a remarkably small package.) The heart of this hippie dog is as big as gandhi or Mother Teresa. While I was there for a two week visit, Bodhi He clicked with me remarkably quickly. He sensed my sadness, and in a compromise 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 about me, he became a part of his love game plan. Did he ask for something in return? Not really. But he got my eternal love. Bodhi loves unconditionally. Dogs know how to do that. They do not question, criticize, doubt or demand. They may ask for pets, and may find them suitable to be fed on occasion, but in the scheme of things, they give much more than they receive.
Dignity
It is true that dogs can be quite silly. They don’t have the meticulous standards of a cat. Dogs will roll in rotting raccoon guts. They will make a scene, hysterically barking 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 her two daughters, and I knew her her entire life until her recent death. Bella could be quite maddening. Eating chocolate, reading glasses, underwear, and a variety of other unorthodox, unhealthy, and indigestible items. But somehow, no matter what shenanigans 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, when she slowly let go of life. Though she wasn’t in terrible pain, she grew weaker, more wobbly as the tumors spread through her body. Breathing wasn’t always easy and it hurt her to walk. But she woke up every morning to walk the gardens with her mother, she waited for her daughters to come and say goodbye to her, and she left life on her own terms.
Adopting 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 forgive easily, except for the one who is most important to forgive: myself, although I am getting better at it. Patience. That is a good one. My track record is spotty there. As a teacher, I 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 children, so difficult to feel for oneself. And finally, I seek my own dignity in the face of blatant mistakes and failures. “Be patient, forgive yourself and love yourself,” I hear the dogs tell me, “and live for today. Isn’t today wonderful? And aren’t you lucky to have it?”