“All knowledge, the totality of all questions and answers, is contained in the dog.” ― Franz Kafka
We are dog people. I realized this one evening when we were out having a nice steak dinner. “I miss our dog”, I said absently. “He would like this restaurant.” That’s when I knew I had crossed the line from dog owner to obsessed dog person.
A few months later we were attending a fundraising event. It was a dressy affair with a silent auction and nice dinner. We didn’t know many people and felt out of place. We sat with another couple and struck up a conversation. It turned out they lived a few blocks away from us. When we told them where we lived they exclaimed, “Oh that’s the house with the friendly black Lab!” I then realized our dog, who was not invited to the affair, knew more people at the fancy fundraiser than we did.
Our black Lab was well connected and much more. He was handsome and friendly, but not overly so. He was messy but very attentive and never forgetful. If we took him swimming with us, he would spend his time as lifeguard, swimming out to each person doing buddy check. If we went hiking, he would run ahead, then run back to make sure everyone, even the stragglers, were falling in line. He was busy and active but also took long naps with sometimes unsettling dreams where he would be running or whining, chasing squirrels in his sleep. He loved us and we certainly loved him.
Our Lab changed his approach depending upon the person he was dealing with. He knew our daughter did not like loud wake up calls, so he would quietly show up in her room and “be present”. With our son, he would bound up the stairs, and take a flying leap onto him. For me, he would wait patiently by the bed, about a 1/4 inch from my face, like a toddler. Sometimes he would nudge my nose. My husband mostly woke the dog up, but every once in awhile, particularly early Saturday mornings, he would get the super deluxe Leaping Lab wake up alarm.
I swear our dog knew when I was sad or worried or having a bad day. He would cuddle a little closer and stay by my side. When the electricity first went out during hurricane Ike, he wedged himself next to me, sitting like a statue all night long, ears and nose on high alert, listening for signals from the rain and wind. When someone within a ten mile radius was barbecuing, our dog and his 10,000x stronger olfactory glands seemed to know. He would stick his nose in the air and actually seemed to be in pain, salivating, knowing some good ol’ Texas mesquite flavored brisket was nearby.
About 10 years later we decided that life without a Lab would be far too quiet, so we added a cute and feisty yellow Lab to the household. We also bought a new heavy duty, deluxe vacuum cleaner. A year later, we’d be buying another one. “There’s enough dog hair here to make another dog”, I said one day while cleaning out the vacuum bag. In spite of the dirt and piles of hair, we found both dogs to be a great addition to our home.
It was a tricky balance with two kids, two dogs, two demanding jobs, and too much dog hair, but somehow we got through. The dogs were gentle with the kids and tolerant, once they finished jumping and mooching food. They guarded the house and watched over our family. They greeted us with such warmth and excitement each day it was hard to not smile. I always thought that it was no coincidence that Dog and God are semi-palindromes.
The younger yellow Lab was a female and a little smaller. At first she was just hyper. The older dog would look at her and it seemed like he was saying “knock yourself out, kid”. They were cordial to each other and settled in as best companions, or at least something above and beyond tolerance. When the older dog could no longer walk, we bought a cheap rug to put over the tile so he could be more comfortable. The day we took him to the vet to put him down, we arrived home without him, only to find his little yellow Lab pal lying on the same rug, very sad, with her chin on the floor. It about broke my heart.
The younger Lab had a similar reaction when the kids went off to college. It was very quiet in the days following their departure and her mournful and rather accusatory glance said it all: “Where did they go?” “Why did you send them away?” “Where are their shoes?”. “When will they be back?”
The last question is the hardest. Can dogs tell time? Our dog seems to know what time it is because she heads to the back door at ten to five every day, looking for my husband returning from work. I would love to know how she knows it’s time for him to return. Is it her stomach growling? Does she hear his car on the road behind our house? Does she count the kids leaving the nearby middle school after the last bell? If so, how does she know in the summer? Another question is: how she adjusts for daylight savings time, but does not seem to adjust her morning alarm on the weekends. All of these things I would love to know. However it works, she is instinctively wise, I will give her that.
I think dogs know more than they are letting on, that their role is to teach us a thing or two about patience, love, and loss, and “being present”. All of these characteristics show us humans we are not so superior. Dogs keep us humble and grounded and offer a friendly hello when the world beats us up. They are perceptive beyond words, and loyal to the end.
I bought a small watercolor at an art fair. It has a nice splash of color and elegant calligraphy with the saying: “I hope to become the person my dog thinks I am”. Maybe they are not semi-palindromes after all. Maybe God and Dog are synonyms. 🐾 (lwr, 10/17/2017)