The Wisdom of Dogs

Dogs. Millions of people post millions of anecdotes and adventures they have with their dogs. We often lament that dogs do not live as long as we do and I am no stranger to that sentiment.

I fear death. Mainly because I don’t know what lies beyond. I have faith and I believe what I believe, but like all of us, nobody truly knows for certain what comes after this life. After two tours to Iraq from the ages of 18-22, I learned very quickly that our most precious commodity was time. You can be a billionaire and get hit by a car or struck by lightning just the same as someone who makes their home in a cardboard box. The value of money pales in comparison to the value of time. It is so precious.

I fear the day that my rumbling, tumbling Rhodesian Ridgeback/Great Pyrenees mix, Obi will not be with me anymore. I got a late start in life, and only within the last 3 years was I able to purchase a home with a yard that could support a dog. Shortly thereafter I adopted Obi from good friends I worked with. We’ve been inseparable ever since, save for the times I have to travel for work or go for a quick trip across the Atlantic ocean. He is the epitome of the age old moniker, man’s best friend.

I believe dogs are here to remind us of the value of time. Our time here is fleeting and short, as is theirs. I’ve learned a few things from Obi in the time I’ve had him and I hope I continue to learn from him as we both grow older.

The first thing I’ve learned: spend time with those you love. Obi, as large as he is, believes he is a lap dog, as most large dogs do. And if he’s not in my lap, he is rarely more than a few feet from me. Sometimes it’s annoying when I’m trying to get certain things done, but I know there will be a day when I crave his attention and it will no longer be there. It hurts so much that even though that day is likely more than a decade away, writing this paragraph has brought me to tears. His eyes pierce every bad mood and insecurity saying “It’s ok dad, I love you and I’m pretty swell, stop being sad and rub my tum tum.”

The second thing I’ve learned from Obi is to never stop playing. I truly believe we don’t stop playing because we get old, but we get old because we stop playing. We spend so much of our lives craving the privileges of adulthood, yet when we get there all we have is nostalgia for riding our bikes and jumping them off curbs, playing street hockey or football in our neighborhood when we were kids. For Obi, there is never a bad time to play. No matter if I’m just waking up or trying to go to bed, if I pick up his pig squeak toy, it’s go time. There is a time for serious matters and we do a bang up job of overdosing on that, maybe we take a prescription of more play from the “Dogtor”.

The third thing I’ve learned from that rambunctious ball of fur is to forgive easily. Sometimes, Obi has...not his best moments. They often deal with any creature from grasshopper to lion being in HIS backyard. As large as he is, my fence cannot stand that barrage of this fearless protector trying to get whatever animal is behind the fence, above it in the trees, or walking along the top of it. When he hits the fence with his large, bear-like paws, the entire length shakes and I get nervous about having to replace an entire fence line because Obi wants to fight a squirrel or possum...or butterfly. So I chastise him, swat him on the backside and get him inside. But as soon as he is inside, despite getting popped on the bottom, he comes and lays his head in my lap or rolls onto his back for tum tum rubs. I cannot resist giving him pets and telling him that I love him (just not his choices). He just got swatted on the bottom or booped on the nose and yet here he is, in my lap saying sorry and forgiving me for the aforementioned actions I took to discipline him.

I know one day I’ll miss him being my shadow, trying to play when it’s bedtime and his absolute loathing of the squirrels in my backyard. I’ll miss my friend, my companion who sat next to me on the stairs all those late nights I cried, wondering if I’d ever do anything in my life that mattered. I’ll miss him pushing his snoot in between my hands as I cried, wiping away my tears with his fur almost as if to say, “You matter to me, dad.”

It’s not easy. My pride, my ego, my whatever make it difficult to follow my own advice, but in the end, if you are there for those you love and you matter to them, that is a life well lived. Cherish the time spent with the ones you love, play whenever you can, and forgive those who hurt you.