I had ached for a dog all through my 20s, the way some people long for a child. We bought a house primarily to provide a pad for a pooch, and within days of the auction we selected a three-week-old blonde Labrador. In a retro-inspired moment, we called her Doris, after Doris Day.
Expecting the unconditional love dogs supposedly give, I was surprised to find that Doris had a mind of her own. In fact, Doris was quite the independent thinker. If anyone remembers the ’70s TV show Kung Fu, Doris rapidly assumed the role of the wise Master Po and I of the humble journeyman, Grasshopper. Here are some of the lessons she taught me.
Develop patience and accept we can’t control a lot in this world
In my mind’s eye, Doris and I would bond on long walks, spent in peace and harmony in the fresh air. In reality, she set a pace of 40 kilometres an hour. Somewhere between Doris pulling on the leash so hard she was constantly choking, my arm being regularly yanked from its socket, and passers-by hilariously quipping, “Enjoying your dog taking you for a walk?”, our outings became increasingly tense affairs, imbued with a sense of shame at my own incompetence at not “controlling” my hound. Eventually I learnt that we control very little in our lives and that trying to reign by yelling is not to reign at all. With the benefit of hindsight, the solution was just driving her to off-lead areas till her puppy enthusiasm abated. Better to pick your battles, and work with what you’ve got.
Observe what makes others tick; it is rarely about you
When yearning for a dog, I envisaged a life filled with endless cuddles. Doris, however, was just not into cuddles, squirming to break free after mere seconds of being held. It took a while for me to accept this was not a rejection of me. I had to take Doris how I found her, not how I would like her to be.
The importance of being grateful
Every time I gave Doris a bone, she would inspect it, her whole body wriggling with excitement. But instead of just attacking it straight away, she always came back to me, ears down, smiling, to thank me. She would hop from one front leg to another while I tickled her jowls, and only then would she commence her assault on the bone.
That simple act of giving thanks, of being grateful, has resonated with me ever since.
Shower people you love with love, show them the way you feel
Doris ran to meet me every night I came home from work. We had a routine where she’d go through my legs head-first, whereupon I’d rub her jowls, then she would go through my legs the other way, so I rubbed her haunches. While executing the last manoeuvre, Doris always let out a huge yowling yawn, as if to say, “Mum’s home. All is now right with the world.” To feel so tangibly loved by her made everything right in my world.
One time, I was sitting in bed talking on the phone when I received some terrible news about my father, who was ill. I howled, big sobs racking my body. Doris, startled from her slumber, quickly assessed that action by her was required. She leapt onto the bed and sat in my lap – all 30 kilos of her, her bushy tail whooshing against me. She was literally sitting with my grief, as if to say, “I know things are bad and I am here with you.” That is all we can ever do to support our loved ones in times of sadness and desperation.
The interconnectedness of us all
I became aware of how much Doris depended on me to feed her, walk her, make sure she had fresh water and the vet’s attention when necessary, keep her safe and warm, clean her bedding and play with her. All those small kindnesses made her life comfortable and happy, and big-ticket items like trust and enduring love just followed suit.
I realised Doris was the one constant in my life and how greatly I depended on her, too. No matter how much your family, friends or partner love you, they are rarely in your life to the extent that your dog is. Whether I was working from home, gardening, showering or watching TV, Doris followed. Her contentment helped me feel more contented and encouraged me to put my best face forward.
Exalt in moments of pure joy
Wallowing in muddy puddles during romps in the park was the ultimate for Doris, during which she achieved a mystical state of joy before emerging with a blond body and Pippi Longstocking-style black legs. Once home, she’d hop up on the (formerly) white couch and settle down with perfect equanimity for a nice rest. Even when I groaned inwardly, her blissful look reminded me how I needed to seek out my own muddy puddles and just plain wallow from time to time.
Live for right now
I used to throw my arms around Doris (more like get her in a headlock, really) and say over and over again, “I never want to lose you.” But after I lost her (to leukaemia, when she was four), I realised that grief isn’t an enemy to fight off but rather an old friend you bump into, that helps to keep cherished memories alive. Loving a lot means losing a lot.
Doris taught me not to rake through the past endlessly – life sucks for everyone now and again, even for years sometimes, but as long as life goes on, you’re ahead of the game.
I know now that I never should have worried about losing her. I just needed to be grateful each day for having her with me.
~ Courtesy of Brisbane Times
Tags: dog life, family, lessons from the dog, life lessons, life with dog, Love
