I’ve had the supreme privilege of having spent the last 10 years of my life with not one, but two beautiful golden retrievers.
As we’ve grown older together, as I’ve watched their faces gain wisdom and silver fur, as they’ve come to lower into and rise from their lying positions more slowly and with more labored groaning sounds, I’ve come to realize just how naturally wise they are.
If we humans would live life as dogs do, we could experience heaven on Earth.
Dogs are honest. If they’re happy, they show it. Wagging tales, open mouths and lolling tongues. And when they’re sad or ashamed (or the dog equivalent of human shame), their tails retreat below their buttocks and their heads bow. How they feel is never in question.
We humans could remove a lot of stress from our lives if we were honest with our emotions.
Dogs live only in the present moment. They don’t spend any time stressing or worrying or feeling regret, which are all things caused exclusively by the past and the future. A dog’s attention is always fully focused on this exact moment of existence.
When I take my boys to the farm down the street for their daily jaunt and I ask/yell, “You wanna go for a hike!?” it’s as if they can’t believe their good fortune. Every time. If I could experience that level of excitement once a day for the rest of my life, I could die a happy man.
And when we arrive and they burst out of the back of my car in a golden, furry blur, they run around and around sniffing each and every scent they come across. Some are so interesting as to stop them in their tracks and merit a full 10 or 15 seconds of sniffing before they douse the pleasing/offending (I don’t know) scent in urine and move on to the next one.
Watching them be dogs in a field and in the woods is one of my greatest pleasures. Their focus is incredible and nothing, except maybe another another dog (or a coyote as was the case of a few days back), could pry them away from their work of sniffing and peeing. I often wonder what their olfactory experience is. It’s obviously quite different from ours as they receive much more, and I would guess much more specific information than we do from the airborne particles.
If we humans could do our daily tasks, our work, all of our activities with just a fraction of the gusto of our dogs, we could lead more exciting and happier lives without changing anything external, but just by changing the way we go about our business. (To be clear, I’m not recommending anyone urinate on everything.)
The younger of my two dogs, Rigs, can be aggressive at times with other dogs, especially poodles. For some reason, he despises poodles. While his sight and hearing have deteriorated noticeably over the past couple of years, if there’s a poodle within a hundred yards, he immediately knows it and charges the poor curly bastard. This happens as well on occasion with other breeds who tend towards aggressiveness, such as German Shepherds and Rottweilers.
But yesterday, uncharacteristically, he attacked a submissive husky for no apparent reason. Before the incident I mentioned to the owner that her dog must be looking forward to the cold winter ahead, and as I finished the sentence I heard the attack and the growling and barking so I ran over and broke it up and apologized – I’ve gotten good at apologizing on Rigs’ behalf.
No less than two or three seconds later, Rigs was back to smiling and sniffing and pissing, having completely forgotten of the altercation.
Imagine if we humans could have our altercations, express our aggression and get it out of our system, then immediately move on.
There’s nothing inherently wrong with aggression. Violence yes, but not aggression. If you spend any time watching wild animals you’ll see plenty of aggression. It’s beautiful. An effective means of communication. And once peace is regained, the animals move on. They accept that aggression is a part of life and don’t lose any sleep over it.
In fact, the blossoming of a flower is a highly aggressive process, as is sex. Both beautiful.
Dogs feel no guilt when they relax. They spend most of their time relaxing, either just lying there passively or outright sleeping.
We humans should feel no guilt in relaxing and doing nothing. It’s one of the best things to do.
Dogs accept everything as it is and don’t seek to change anything. I’ve known a couple three-legged dogs who were no less happy than their four-legged friends. I’ve seen dogs without hind legs who have their bodies on little carts and wheel themselves around with their front paws, all the while smiling and huffing and puffing exactly the way they always did.
What if we humans accepted the way things are instead of always seeking to change them forcefully, plodding on unmercifully, postponing our happiness until the desired change occurs? Or for the things we can’t change, instead of being miserable over seeming misfortune in our lives, focusing intensely on the past that cannot be changed, what if we simply accepted it all and moved on?
I’ve sat there twice in the past as two of my beloved dogs, a German Shepherd, Nikka, and a fat little beagle, Marlin, drew their last breaths after their lethal injections were administered. With any luck, I will do so again with these boys several years down the road.
Update: Unfortunately, exactly three months after writing this post, I lay on the ground with Rigs as his lethal injection was administered.
No matter how old and decrepit dogs become, they understand on a deep level that death is inevitable, and that they have no choice other than to accept it fully. They don’t let the prospect of death hinder their present happiness. It’s as if they understand it’s simply a transition, a switching of forms. I’ve heard that dogs often unceremoniously leave their homes when they know they’re going to die and simply walk into the woods and lie down and go.
What if we humans were able to accept death fully and not fear it? Imagine how much richer life could be.
I love dogs, especially my two old men because I know them so well. And they know me.
I think one of the reasons we’re drawn to dogs is because they remind us of our potential. They remind us how we could be living our lives, and often they help us live our lives better. And even if they don’t help us live better, their simple presence elevates and enhances our human life experience.
As I write this sentence, Buddy, who is coming up on 12 years old, is rolling around on his back and making groaning noises just because it feels good.
I think I’ll join him and do the same.