To the uninformed, it might appear that there is a content, snoring dog currently stretched at my feet. While this observation is not inaccurate, it is incomplete. My furry shadow does his species proud with his knack for finding the most putrid of substances in which to roll and his unerring internal clock that alerts me to an upcoming meal starting one hour prior to the event. This canine transformer of mine is also the most truthful of therapists who mirrors my moods and compels self-reflection in ways that cannot be doubted.
Admittedly, I am shamelessly biased in my estimation of Best’s gifts. I’m not so partial, however, that I can’t concede that this design feature is identical to others of his kind. I have often said and will continue to say that We. Do. Not. Deserve. Dogs. I certainly have not deserved the grace and adoration of the three Dutch Shepherds with whom I’ve shared my life throughout adulthood. For those of us who will humble ourselves, our dogs can show us our inconsistencies and untruths in addition to immeasurable joy (and more vet bills than we would have imagined possible!). As I sit thinking of a particularly difficult decision I need to make and feel my uncertainty begin to rise, Best senses this and moves closer. In a conversation with my husband during which I proclaim, “I’m not upset; everything is fine,” Best outs me by crawling from his bed to come press against my leg, nosing my hand as if to say, “You’re really only fooling yourself here, you know?”
The regularity with which he aptly identifies my mental state, his tendency to find a quiet perch away from me when I’m flitting from room to room trying to grade essays/fold laundry/return emails/make the bed, and his insistence when I would rather pull a blanket over my head and pretend it is an invisibility cloak to shove his slimy toy at me until I cave and take him outside to play have taught me to look much closer at my intentions and choices. Paulo Coelho said, “If you want to be successful, you must respect one rule: never lie to yourself,” and although I don’t know if he shared his home with a dog, I’d bet he did because they are that friend who will tell you that you’ve got lettuce between your teeth or that the low rise jeans and baby tee you’re squeezed into are best left to those several decades behind you—they show you daily what radical honesty with ourselves looks like, and that it can and should coexist with great love.
They are the friend who leads by example to teach us unapologetic self-acceptance. Best dives face-first into his meals every day, polishing the empty bowl with his tongue for as long as I’ll allow it. “Oh no, I really shouldn’t eat all this; what if my collar gets a bit snug?” is a sentiment never to cross his mind. After a glorious roll in a pile of elk poop he will race toward me, tail high and mouth open in a guffaw, paying no mind at all to the clumps of scat smeared onto his ear. “Get a look at me,” he seems to be saying, “Don’t I look and smell ah-maz-ing?!” So certain is he of my unconditional commitment to and acceptance of him that he gives me his all every single day, never wasting precious energy wondering if he’s “good enough” or if another handsome four-legged might catch my eye and lure me from him when he’s no longer young, spry, and novel.
Best, as well as his beloved predecessors, have encouraged me to be more curious, forgiving, accepting, and deserving of the gift of waking each morning. Who knew that for the price of kibble and belly rubs any of us could have our very own in-house life coach whose only flaws are occasional shedding and living for far too brief a time?
PartWolf 