Doggo

Anyone with basic observation skills who has ever had the pleasure of a dog's company, may have asked themselves the question, why is this animal so happy? It’s always wagging its tail! Dogs, in general, are the most resilient of creatures and have, in my humble opinion, unlocked the secret to a happy life. No matter the circumstance, a dog will undoubtedly find a way to wag it's tail. They just love life. They just seem to want to live their best life, despite the circumstances. Saving you the trouble of reading this entire blog, here then, right up front, is a dog's secret to a happy life. First, adapt to what you have, second, love unconditionally, live in the moment, and finally, sleep when you are tired, eat when you are hungry...that's it!

I’ve had the pleasure of a dog's company for a good portion of my life. Fearing the death of my first dog, the family dog, I would project 10 years into the future, knowing her life wouldn't last but a decade or slightly more. I prayed that I would be away from home when it came time for her to go to heaven. Later I would discover that this approach, foreseeing the future, and working through the future scenarios of this unpleasantness, is one of the key principles of stoicism. We are told by the experts that dogs can’t really do such mental gymnastics because they are not self aware. They can’t even see themselves in the mirror (recently disputed in several studies). It is also clear that none of my dogs have opened and read Marcus Aurelius “The Meditations".  So I am going to have to rule out Stoicism as a secret to their happiness. Yet somehow they don’t react to the emotional roller coaster of life. They are resilient to these ups and downs.

Dogs are very keen observers of their environment. Through their eyes, ears, and nose they paint a full multidimensional view of the world around them. They have as close to perfect “total awareness” of this world without the help of the meditative skills given to us by Zen Buddhists for entering the mind known as Satori or total awareness. I have also not observed my dog sitting in the lotus position, so it’s probably safe to say my dog’s have not been Zen Masters. Yet they sleep when they are tired, they eat when they are hungry. That’s a perfect life. They are resilient to sensory deprivation through their awareness. If denied one sense, they compensate with another. Seamlessly, as if they are not even aware the other is missing.

As we watch our dogs age they are incredibly adaptable. A dog named Lucky, a three legged dog, or the one eyed dog, are not just clichés for a reason. There are many dogs named Lucky. And it’s possible to have all three in the same package, a three legged, one eyed dog, named Lucky. I would love Lucky. Most of my dog lover friends would too. And you can bet Lucky would love to have his head scratched or his belly rubbed and be wagging her tail the whole time. Yet to endure this fate and the natural degradation of growing old I have never observed my dog dressing in her Sunday best, and heading out to Church on Easter. In fact I’ve never observed my dog praying at dinner time or reading the Bible for that matter. I can safely say my Dog is not a Christian in any sense of the word. I don’t know if all dogs go to heaven, but since I know my dog’ is not going to hell, I can only assume she's going to the better place...wherever that may be...and without the salvation of her soul. I believe animals are without sin...unlike other's who project their own sin's onto the actions of dogs.

Yet undeniably, a dog is a human’s best friend. A best friend without all the hang-ups of any human’s human best friend. Even the best of all our human friends come with baggage. Maybe rarely, but still, even the best of our human friends will have a bad day. A death in the family. A sick child. A major shift in their life. It is at those times when your friendship with them will be more important than their friendship with you. Yet still, the dog is there. Undeterred in their resolve by the sad news they wag their tail and it makes us smile.

So without the emotional maturity of Marcus Aurelius, the keen awareness of a Zen Master, or the selflessness of Christ Jesus, how did dogs become our best friend?

Our current dog is living out the remainder of her geriatric years, and is still a source of great love. Selfless, unbounded, universal Love. Not Eros, not Phila, nor Agape, dogs simply possess the ability to love without conditions. A dog holds no judgment. They don’t know what you were doing, what you were thinking, or what you were saying. They don’t condemn you for being a conservative or a liberal. I promise you it wasn’t me who trained our dog to bark at MAGA red or Marxist blue. She just knew. (that’s a joke)

Our dog is now a Centurion, in dog-years. Over the age of 15 she is now 105 in dog-years. She may be older but she still wags her tail when we enter the room. Although she can no longer see that well. And, she is stone cold deaf having lost all of her hearing sometime ago. We didn’t go to the audiologist so she doesn’t really understand that she would be losing her hearing…and to prepare for this disability. She actually doesn’t behave as if she has a disability. She just doesn’t bark at the mailman when she hears him on the porch. Rather, she sleeps at the door with her nose tucked up in the crack, and every once in a while, when she gets the timing right, she can feel his footsteps on the front porch and greets him with great exuberance…and a wagging tail....  Dog on a porch, wagging it's tail.  That's the meaning of life.  If you've every read the book, Man's Search For Meaning, Viktor Frankl’s classic book, I have reduced the tenets of Logo Therapy to being present.  Paying attention in those moments of connection.  Dog's pay attention in those moments of attention.  They demand it.  Even if they are just brining you a ball.  They are present, they are in the moment.  For more on Logo Therapy read my review of Frankl's book (Squirrel on a Branch Eating a Nut).

Because she is deaf, she isn’t that great judging when I am walking behind her, she turns her whole body to look, to make sure I am still there.  This proves comical, because every once in awhile she will turn suddenly, and  not being as agile as I use to be, it feels like she is about to sweep my legs, in a Karate Kid style take down. She also sleeps 28 hours a day. Reserving those last few minutes of her life for us as best she can. Even though she can't hear or see that well she can still smell. Her olfactory senses still seem as keen as ever. She doesn’t hear me putting her food in the bowl…so she’s not right there with me.  But when, at the speed of smell, the meaty aroma makes it to the living room, she lifts her head, breaths in the air, and decides if she is hungry. If she’s hungry, she awakens fully, slowly stands, and makes her way into the kitchen, wagging her tail along the way…she is present.