Rastas Michael James

You struggle to get on your feet from the floor these days, your back legs kicking and sliding away from where you place them to give you traction. I remember when you used to rise in a unified movement from sitting on the driveway to the bed of the pickup, tail wagging in anticipation of playtime. You were half the age then that you are now, and the years have brought you down slowly to the age of arthritis, overweight, fatty tumors everywhere, reduced hearing and eyesight, weak hips. But still you growl at a wayward puppy, a pushy youth, and even at a misguided adult dog who gazes too intently at your toy.

You accept the changes as natural, your lot in life not to be gainsaid, the Tao of Dog. In you I perceive the wisdom to accept what is beyond your ability to alter without being depressed or even resigned, let alone frustrated. It is an attitude we humans would do well to emulate, if  only we could. But we let too much pride and thinking get between us and the nearest path. “Teaching” us the benefits of your wisdom to perceive change as being the fundamental nature of the universe, may be your last, greatest gift.

But we fight it all the time. We want permanence, period!  We have no use for constant change, for we see it all around us going on and on. And out pets are vivid reminders in case we allow our attention to wander for a moment, as when we swallow some religious fantasy about immortality or an unchanging deity. Of course those who prey upon our desire to run from constant change know exactly which promises best bait the hook that will catch us, and they dish them up through all the channels.  

Another of your lessons has to do with dignity. You possess yours as you wear your thick, hairy coat, not to be cast off for any reason. It shows clearly when I have hurt your feelings, for instance by refusing to take you with me when I use the car. I may think the weather too warm for you to go with me; and though that may be true, in not letting you decide, I hurt your feelings. You react by stomping upstairs and sulking on your bed. And if I come immediately to soothe you, you won’t have it. Yet when I return after an hour or more, you are all sunshine and forgiveness. That’s class! Your dignity doesn’t fail you.

Though you are accepting of endless changes, like a true Taoist, you are also a creature of habit or rather routine, making me wonder at the apparent contradiction. You like your supper to begin at 4:30 p.m., your breakfast as soon as I rise, and bowls of cool, clean water in between morning and evening playtime at the park. Variation in those hours is difficult for you. Since a satisfying meal is the high point of your day, anything that detracts from it you rebuff by not eating at all. Ultimately, you’d rather hunger than put up with what you consider a major insult: someone monkeying with you victuals.

Another constant in your life is your love of humans closest to you. Someone said you and I are connected at the hip; at the heart may have been more accurate. You want to be with me at all times and my going off without you is worse than a scolding to you. I look for you everywhere I go, especially when I come home expecting your greeting. There will be a gaping hole in my doorway when you are gone.