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I love dogs. We always had them around the house growing up, and I’ve had the good fortune of cohabiting with a number of excellent pups. Most recently, I did a brief stint down in Austin, house-sitting for a newly married pal of mine (congrats, Frank & Monica), and was inspired by my housemate (Cottie) to cobble together a few learnings from the various canines in my life.
Cottie
From Cottie, I was reminded of a couple things: to chase your joys relentlessly and to bite off more than you can chew.
For those lacking the good fortune of having met dear Cotton Candy (her alternative name), I would say that there is no joy in her life as defining and singular as chasing a good stick. The bedeviling ecstasy of this pursuit is second to none for this little tootsie roll with legs. I have seen her chase to tongue-flapping, foot-dragging exhaustion, and then some. Her unfiltered joy, sparked by the simplest of branches, is as infectious as it is annoying for her often-times distracted human companions. I have witnessed Cottie retaining the stick in her mouth as she peed between bouts of the chase, lest it should leave her sight (god forbid). That’s commitment.
From this the metaphor writes itself. Whatever it is, find your stick and chase it. These are the few, precious pursuits that make life worth living, and if you’re lucky enough to find your stick, go all the way:
“If you’re going to try, go all the way. Otherwise, don’t even start. This could mean losing girlfriends, wives, relatives and maybe even your mind. It could mean not eating for three or four days. It could mean freezing on a park bench. It could mean jail. It could mean derision. It could mean mockery - - isolation. Isolation is the gift. All the others are a test of your endurance, of how much you really want to do it. And, you’ll do it, despite rejection and the worst odds. And it will be better than anything else you can imagine. If you’re going to try, go all the way. There is no other feeling like that. You will be alone with the gods, and the nights will flame with fire. You will ride life straight to perfect laughter. It’s the only good fight there is.” - Charles Bukowski, Factotum
And know that this doesn’t have to be a complex, philosophical, metaphysical pursuit to move mountains. The opinions of others bear no weight on the scale of pursuits that ignite you. Not all dogs love sticks- Some love frisbees and others tug-of-war. To each their own in finding one’s truth:
Truth is not that which can be demonstrated by the aid of logic. If orange-trees are hardy and rich in fruit in this bit of soil and not that, then this bit of soil is what is truth for orange-trees. If a particular religion, or culture, or scale of values, if one form of activity rather than another, brings self-fulfillment to a man, releases the prince asleep within him unknown to himself, then that scale of values, that culture, that form of activity, constitute his truth. Logic, you say? Let logic wangle its own explanation of life." - Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, Wind, Sand, and Stars
But I can’t stop at simply over-philosophizing her compulsive fetching- I also respect Cottie’s proclivity for biting off more than she can chew. It isn’t enough for her to find a stick. It must be the least convenient one for her to retrieve. Less so than the extreme pictured above, Cottie’s M.O. typically involves finding a branch just big enough to drag the ground as she lugs it back to you.
The pup habitually grabs more than she can gracefully manage, and loves every second of the challenge. Should you find your stick to chase, go beyond your comfort zone. When you take joy in the act of the pursuit itself, everything else is gravy. So, Dream Alittle Bigger, Darling. If you can effortlessly slide your paycheck into your little bank account, what’s the point? It’s in being extended beyond our abilities that we grow and find meaning.
Key here being the obtainable, yet challenging extension part. Cottie doesn’t grab immovable tree trunks (ok, maybe sometimes she does), but is always nibbling just a bit past her abilities. As in life as the gym, it’s the healthy discomfort that spurs growth. I think that’s a great reminder.
Hercules
From Hercules, I have gathered (in laughably oversimplified, second-hand terms) the impact of parenting. Said another way, there are no bad dogs, only bad owners. It’s not the animals, but how we raise them.
As you can see from above, Hercules is quite the titan. It’s like living with a miniature horse. A horribly trained, annoyingly obstinate dickhead of a horse. I love and hate this dog each day within the span of an hour.
I’ve said time and again that the best part about living with a roommate’s dog is that you gain all of the benefits (pets, play, etc.) with none of the downsides (walks, accidents, etc.). This is generally true, but in living with this dog long enough, and caretaking frequently enough in my roommate’s absence, one begins to ruminate on the frustrating aspects of the beast’s behaviors with a more informed understanding.
Dear Hercules is not a dumb animal, despite his facial expressions above. He is a strikingly handsome dog, and a generally receptive pooch. But he is an animal that has never been exposed to any amount of consistent discipline or thoughtful structure, particularly in his youth. Case in point comes from my ongoing battle with this guy: walks.
I love living with dogs, and I’m eager to take Hercules on walks. Akin to Cottie’s stick, I would say that sniffing the debris that adorns the neighborhood sidewalks might be the greatest joy in Hercules’s life, every time, without fail. But Herc is bound by the curse of his size- he weighs as much as I do and pulls twice as hard. It’s not inherent in his nature to pull his leash relentlessly, but that he was never systematically trained to walk well as a puppy, when he was younger and malleable. This particular point frustrates me so much as, for Herc, he is utterly unaware of his self-inflicted wound. I would walk him 5x as much if it weren’t such a Herculean (pun intended) tug-of-war for an hour and a half. But that’s precisely it- he isn’t aware, and the impetus is not on him (the dog) to be in charge of his training.
Barring edge cases, I tend to think that there are no bad dogs, only bad owners, trainers, and environments. It’s much the same with people. In all my reading, learning, and (laughably limited) experience, the plasticity of a child’s brain is practically inconceivable, and its incredible ability to be a sopping knowledge sponge would suggest that, more often than not, it is a failing of environment or parenting that produces shitty people. If my roommate and I are not treating Hercules with a consistent set of rules, disciplines, and rituals, is it so surprising that his maddening behaviors are largely unaltered? Of course not.
I suppose my frustrations are that of an uncle more than a parent; I can see his potential yet am limited in my ability to steer or remodel his behaviors, given the relationship and the bounds on our time together. So, maybe there’s a second learning here as well that you can’t save ‘em all. Like the individuals in your life defined by chronically self-destructive behavior, by the time they’ve reached adulthood there is only so much you can do. Sometimes you just get to scratch them behind the ears (both the dogs and your friends), enjoy your time together, and leave them on their merry way.
Bella
From Bella, I’m reminded of my own existentialism. Dramatic, huh?
She was the sweet old border collie companion of Marcus, my roommate in Dallas. Well-behaved and easy going, she was the perfect apartment dog. The most memorable example of her heart melting disposition comes from my time studying the GMAT. When Marcus would go to sleep each night at the opposite end of our apartment, Bella would usually curl up at the foot of his bed. She would remain there until he was soundly snoozing, then creep over to my room as I hammered away at the GMAT into the early morning hours. Each night around 11:00PM, I would hear the soft bumping of a nose prying my unlocked door open. Bella would then proceed to park herself at the foot of my bed, observing my cerebral labors until bedtime. I would fall asleep with her company each night, and awaken to an empty bed as she would return to Marcus’s room after I too had fallen asleep. The littlest guardian angel of our apartment, she wanted little more than to be near her people.
It was at some point during these late night study sessions that the phrase “rest easy, tired eyes” started knocking around my head as I would observe Bella napping between practice tests. Given her gray-haired age, and grandmotherly disposition, I always felt so fortunate for the time I had with Bella kicking around in the background. Eventually, that simplistic phrase took a bit of a life of its own as I contemplated the arc of this pound puppy’s life.
I think it was spurred by an encounter with another friend who had adopted a puppy around that time. As we discussed his little furball, he offhandedly produced the bittersweet reflection that “The craziest part about loving a dog is the inherent understanding that, if all goes well, you are adopting this thing to rip your heart out in about ten years.” If you really wax philosophical and examine the arc of a dog’s life, it leads to an inevitable appreciation of what very little time we have together. Observing the accelerated timeline of their lives gives us a frame of reference for the stages of our own, and how precious each one is.
Which brings me back to that phrase: rest easy, tired eyes. That’s all that any of us can really hope for at the end of the day- a life well lived, wished off into the endless abyss in a peaceful resignation.
I don’t impart these ideas to be depressing. Quite the opposite. From Bella, I came to appreciate the joy in life’s simplicities. Just being happy to be with my people, and loving the brief time we’re allotted.
Big ideas inspired by a small dog. And to bring us back on a more humorous note.. When all else fails, remember:
It’s a dog eat dog world, and I’m wearin’ milkbone underpants. - Norm MacDonald
Fetch some joy this weekend.
- W