Puppy Love
Admittedly, it’s cheating to throw in photos of puppies. A cheap attention-grabber.
Here’s my excuse. Many of my posts lately have been somber, musing on serious, sometimes heart-wrenching issues. I won’t apologize for tackling our collective wounds, our national and even global fault-lines. This is a blog about “Why We Write,” after all. But a life that focuses solely on problems to be solved misses the moments of joy, love, and laughter.
My daughter has often said if she knew she didn’t have long to live, she’d want to be surrounded by puppies.
I agree.
So many of the saccharine/trite/shallow axioms and memes about dogs are misleading, downright false, or true but . . . saccharine and trite and shallow.
For example, in my experience (10 dogs and counting), dogs don’t always give unconditional love. Case in point: when my daughter came home for the holidays, during her first year of college, our dog – who loved her to distraction – physically turned his back on her, and pressed his nose into the corner. He was angry with her for leaving.
And dogs do remember old hurts and fears and traumas. If you’ve ever tried to drag your dog to the car for a trip to the vet, you know of what I speak.
And dogs can be petty and vengeful. Our dog steals our other dog’s tennis balls, and it’s not because he likes playing with them (he’s never been a fetch kind of canine – in fact he looks at us with an incredulous expression, as if to say, “You were the one who threw the ball. If you want it, you fetch it.”) No, he just wanted to keep her from having any toys.
What is true, in my opinion, is this:
my dog makes me feel like I matter.
The ecstatic Dinner Dance, the tail wagging so hard with pleasure it shakes his whole body, the open-mouthed smile of delight. His habit of leaning against my leg with a deep sigh of contentment, the way he rests his heavy head on my lap and gazes into my eyes, the possessive paw on my arm, the delighted licks (in spite of putrid dog-breath) . . . I am important to him.
So much of what I do or try to do to make the world a better place falls flat. I get it wrong, I satisfy some people while upsetting others, I give in to laziness or fear, I fail to understand the details or think through the implications of a plan of action. But filling my dog’s bowl with food, or rubbing his belly, or announcing it’s time for a walk – each act generates unfiltered, unabashed, unadulterated happiness.
I’m sure you’ve seen the articles noting that when a human pets a dog, both get a rush of pleasure endorphins. (Here’s just one https://www.scientificamerican.com/article/is-the-gaze-from-those-big-puppy-eyes-the-look-of-your-doggie-s-love/)
I am not good at many things. In fact I’d say I suck at much of what I attempt – to use the vernacular of the 80s and 90s.
But at this I succeed, over and over: I make my dog happy.
So here is a toast to the dogs of the world, and to simple happiness!
So much of what I do or try to do . . . falls flat. But at this I succeed, over and over: I make my dog happy.
Postscript: can’t seem to write anything purely lighthearted. If you think, as I do, that animal testing is abhorrent, for dogs as well as other creatures that feel pain and fear . . .
Check out these articles from the Humane Society of the United States: https://www.humanesociety.org/resources/dogs-used-experiments-faq#life, and https://www.humanesociety.org/all-our-fights/ending-cosmetics-animal-testing.
Make your voice heard (and donate to the Humane Society which is sponsoring legislation): https://secure.humanesociety.org/site/Advocacy?cmd=display&page=UserAction&id=7777
Intentionally buy cosmetics and household cleaners that carry the official not-tested-on-animals logo:
And for omnivores, pay a little extra for meat, eggs, and dairy from certified humanely-raised animals. (Ignore marketing statements like “all natural,” “cage free,” or even “organic” – receiving organic feed is a good start but has nothing to do with humane treatment.)
Images by Austin Kirk @austinkirk; Hendo Wang @hendoo; Vidar Nordli-Mathisen @vidarnm. The last two photos are my own.