“All his life he tried to be a good person. Many times, however, he failed. For after all, he was only human. He wasn’t a dog.”    Charles M. Schulz

I woke up and there she was at my bedside, my 80 pound genetic mash-up of a dog. Her round brown eyes reaching out, pleading for a morning adventure. “Get up, let’s go for a walk. There’s so much to smell from the night.” 

She, Zoe, patiently waited while I had a cup of coffee then renewed her request with exaggerated tail wagging and body wiggling as soon as I began putting on my boots. Now fully dressed with leash in hand and treats in my pocket I pulled out the harness. 

Zoe hates the harness and begins to do her evasion dance circling the kitchen island and voicing a little complaint. “Do I have to wear that thing? I want to run free,” she says to me. 

“I know Zoe. I understand. Had I done a better job teaching you to stay close and not run off you might not need that harness. It’s my fault and I’m sorry, but you have to wear it.” She accepts my confession and concedes to wear her minimalist harness.

Zoe and I go for a walk through our little woods where countless footfalls have carved out trails on our rocky, unruly hillside farm. While she sniffs slender blades of grass with the rapt attention of a surgeon in the operating room, I take the moments to enjoy the promise of a new day. 

I’ve learned a lot from my dog. She is fully in the moment whether she’s waiting on me patiently, gathering information from footprints on the trail, or chasing a ball through the orchard. She lives ‘now’ and brings her full self to whatever is happening. Oh, to be that present. 

Granted, Zoe doesn’t have to pay the bills, wash her bed, clean up after herself or haul her big bag of food home from the store. That’s my job. Clearly we have different roles to play and she gives herself fully to our partnership.

Is it just me, or is there a groundswell of deep attachment to and regard for our pets, and most notably, dogs. I’ve had more than a few conversations with complete strangers that directly point to a frustration with people and a growing admiration for canines. One example was a with a Costco pharmacist. 

“Hi, I’m here to pick up a a prescription for my dog Beau.” (He’s my other dog.) The pharmacist returned with a familiar white bag and while the transaction was taking place we talked. “What kind of dog is Beau?” she asked. “He’s a fairly rotund dachshund, going on 17 years old. He’s deaf, almost blind, and has the very worst breath on the planet. But, I love him.” She laughed, “I understand. I’ve had my share of older dogs. They’re the best.” I smiled and she continued, “I think I like dogs more than most people!” I countered, “Only most?” We shared a good laugh and I went back to my shopping.

That wasn’t a one-off. I’ve had similar casual exchanges with grocery clerks, bank tellers, and baristas. While these tongue-in-cheek, humorous conversations are mostly good fun, I wonder if they may reveal something deeper. Some snowballing discontent, unrest and frustration with humanity. You feel it too, don’t you?

Of course there are generous wonderful people doing good things for humanity, and often in obscurity. I’m fortunate to know quite a few. Still, you can’t pick up a newspaper, periodical, or listen to the news or a podcast without getting the message that, at the very least, a little of our humanity is unravelling. What is it about our dogs that we hunger for in our human counterparts? 

Dogs are Accepting … Zoe doesn’t evaluate another’s worth by their bank account, clothes, or the color of their skin. She doesn’t even seem to notice if I’m having a bad hair day or I’m grumpy. She bypasses the superficial and loves from her core. 

Dogs are Amazingly Empathetic … Zoe is acutely tuned in to emotions. She has a remarkable ability to sense another’s pain. When I am hurting she immediately comes and presses up against my side to give me solace. Her silent, steady presence radiates an extraordinary amount of comfort in that wordless place where true sorrow lives.

Dogs are Indefatigably Playful … She is instantly up for a game anytime I want to play, especially that blaster that makes the big boom when it launches the tennis ball. She reminds me to lighten up and I’m fairly certain she’d agree with Oscar Wilde, “Life is much too important to be taken seriously.”

Dogs are Authentically Themselves … What you see is what you get. They are straight arrows, completely disinterested in being duplicitous. 

Dogs are the Epitome of Patience …  Zoe sits calmly, waits and watches while I labor to put on my boots for our morning walk. When I have to leave her at home while running errands for hours she greets me with tail wagging and happy whimpers. Those big brown eyes don’t scold, they look at me with delighted adoration and say, “I’m so glad you’re back.” Nothing and no one is as patient as a dog. If you have a dog, you know what I mean. 

Dogs are the Embodiment of Presence … She is fully alive and living into every breath with every cell in her body. She reminds me that life is short, by any measure … don’t go complacent and miss the show. 

Dogs are Unfailing Guardians … Zoe’s there for me; whatever I need, whenever I need it. She will lay down her very life for the ones she loves. She will do it without deliberation, concern for herself, or size of the adversary. If her loved one is threatened she becomes fierce to the death. She will never back down.

I have a card from Trader Joe’s that reads, “Be the person your dog thinks you are.” Good advice.

Zoe …