4 lessons from my imperfectly perfect dog
I didn’t expect to learn as much as I did (and still do) from my dog.
When I adopted my pooch, I started from a false position of blatant superiority. And this was down to one main reason: well, I’m human, he’s a dog.
But it didn’t take me long to understand that I was in no position to feel this way. And it wasn’t for nothing that Aesop used animals as the leading characters for his fables.
This, though, isn’t meant to be a Marley and Me copycat. There is no tragic ending, there’s no emotional hook, no thriller, nothing as such. This is just a pet owner sharing what she’s learnt from her imperfectly, perfect dog.
1. Unconditional love isn’t a myth
It doesn’t matter if he messes around where he shouldn’t. If he completely snaps when he spots a male human outside our home. If he wees by the kitchen counter thinking that it’s a perfectly wee-able wall. It doesn’t matter if he steps on his own poop and then cries out like he is being tortured while I shower him. It doesn’t matter. At the end of the day, I look at him and feel a crushing kind of love. One that only expands with every perfection and imperfection that he has.
But it’s true that you learn from watching, from copying. And every time that he came round to me, asking for a cuddle — having completely forgotten that he had been told off, was a reminder that a little fight isn’t the end of it all. In fact, it isn’t even a comma in a fully-fledged sentence.
2. If you want to feel love, give love to others
The old cliché became a cliché for a reason.
Occasionally I have one of those days that everything seems to be sinking. Whether it’s work, or family, or a problem in a relationship. Sometimes, all you can do is sit down and cry like a fool.
When another human sees you in this situation, let’s say my other half, the obvious attempt to remedy the situation is a pat on the back, a “hush, hush,” or “there, there, everything will be okay.”
But my dog (I can’t really speak for other dogs in this case) doesn’t think that way. He sees me crying and immediately he lies down, wiggles his tail, stretches his legs and shows the best his furry belly can give, as if to say, “give me cuddles, now!”
Whether it’s the fact that he is absolutely clueless, or so openly honest, it doesn’t really matter, because it works.
The first time I saw him do that, I thought to myself, “it won’t hurt to try.” So, I petted him and to my amazement, the anxious little bubbles of sadness began to gently dissipate as he delighted himself with each soft stroke.
3. Patience is a muscle
I used to think I was a relatively patient person. I could wait for a late bus without complaining, I could listen to people’s long soliloquies without a yawn, I could take three long breaths and ta-da! no need to fight.
BUT when you’re looking after another living, breathing being, you understand that patience covers a lot more than waiting without complaining.
My mother used to tell me when I was a kid that patience is the science of peace. Only now, I really understand what she meant.
After one week with him at home, I had found myself having to hoover the house every other day. My vacuum’s filter was constantly being clogged by fur. If you have a dog that sheds a lot, then you know the struggle.
Our grey sofa was now peppered in white. I kept trying to force him to stay in his bed, instead of letting him climb to the sofa. Then I gave that up, because what’s the point of having a dog if you can’t have him with you? So, he was then allowed to come up and watch telly with us. Until that is, he began shake-shaking his coat, right there in front of me.
I squinted my eyes, “are you kidding me?” It irritated me to the point that I had a breakdown about cleaning. I felt like I spent most of my free time in the morning tidying the house up, while he was perfectly happy, going on with his life, blissfully.
Then, I thought, why does this bother me so much? Ultimately, the answer I found was: the lack of peace, the presence of irritation is inside me. I taught myself to think that peace and clarity were to be found in a pristine, clean home. I clung to this false idea so ferociously that as soon as my outer sanctum was “desanctified” I felt out of peace.
I looked at my dog and understood what he was doing; he was training me to be more patient, especially towards myself.
Now, every time he shakes his coat, I see it as a new opportunity for me to exercise patience. To accept that there are things we should try to control, and things that we absolutely don’t need to, things, situations, thoughts that should be acknowledged, but then let go of. And letting go, oh boy, is absolutely fabulous!
4. There’s no such thing as superiority
I’m not superior to anyone or anything.
I’m living in this world, sharing the same resources, breathing in the same way as he is. Just like me, he has toothache from time to time, gets hangry and snores when too tired. Just like me, he doesn’t like being alone, he doesn’t like witnessing fights, he doesn’t like feeling unsafe.
The biggest difference, perhaps, lies in a heightened awareness of responsibility. I’m conscious that I’m responsible not only for his life but for mine and all those around me, directly and indirectly.
It is in caring for him, consciously aware of the responsibility I hold, that I learn the most.
