Well, it’s official … our household has gone to the dogs. To two puppies actually, Moose & Maya. These little fur balls with sugar sweet faces and fluffy soft white fur (when they’re not smeared with poop) have turned out to be terrorists in disguise.  

The M&M’s teethe on everything they can fit in their mouths and generally rip it to shreds, pee copious amounts of urine frequently, howl when they want attention (which is any time they are awake), throw up in the car, and give no warning whatsoever when they are about to drop hot, smelly piles of puppy poop. 

Have you noticed that when you say you want something, or decide to make a serious life change it’s all roses for about 2 minutes? After that it would seem the universe throws a little smile in your direction and says, “Oh really?”

Moose, at only 9 weeks old has outgrown his second puppy harness by adding about 6 lbs. to his stocky little frame since we brought him home. He’s already pretty strong and displays the willful personality of a Great Pyrenees. Early training and socialization is an absolute must for these pups … and, for me as well! I keep a careful eye for any clues to indicate he has to pee so I can take him outside. I actually feel like I’m the one who’s being potty trained.

About a week ago I was intuiting that the pups were going to bond more to each other than to us. That was confirmed by our Veterinarian, and as a result Maya lives next door with our daughter. The pups have plenty of play time together outside and then are taken back to their respective homes. 

All this is to say that my desire for these two puppies has led to life-altering changes. For example, a couple of days ago I awoke to a poop and pee disaster in Moose’s kennel. When I say disaster, I mean it. It looked like a four year old had had an espresso, been given a pot of brown tempera paint, a bucket of water, and was told to, “Have fun!” You get the picture.

After a roll of paper towels, and a damp mop I could finally see bottom. All this while Moose was romping around my feet and chasing the mop. Then I went to work getting the poop out of his soft fur with warm water and a rag. He didn’t like that and I believe it was that moment I had a fleeting thought, “You know, it’s not too late to re-home the little guy, if I can ever get him clean!”

It was a fleeting moment, yet the thought raised it’s sly little head throughout the day. Especially when he howled every time my grown dog Zoe walked by his kennel. Oh, did I mention that we now have a full on 6 foot tall ‘Lucky Dog’ 4×8 kennel in our relatively small home? That’s right. Moose’s large outdoor kennel is now occupying the very heart of our home. “Oh really?”

I didn’t seriously consider re-homing Moose. I’m already in love, and love is a four letter word. A word that I’ve always had a hard time defining. What is it? I know what the poets and wisdom books say, yet love to me is still as intangible as the early morning fog that hovers like a fluffy blanket over the valley just outside my front porch.

I can speak more to what love isn’t … it isn’t giving up, it isn’t fickle, deceitful, and it isn’t a feeling. Sure, the feelings may get us to the doorway, but emotion won’t hang in through the hard times. If you love, truly love, there are always hard times. Always obstacles that grab hold of your deepest inadequacies and fears. If you make it through all of that, then come the unavoidable losses.

I know these giant breed dogs have a relatively short life span. Up to now I’ve had dogs that live well into their teens. I’ve liked that assurance. Knowing that the deep loss I will surely feel when they die is many years away. I can’t say exactly why at this time I’m willing to forego that assurance, accept the probable, and be grateful for the time we have. 

I suppose it’s only human to avoid sadness. To want the fluffy puppy and not the poop. To want the house, car, boat, vacation without the work it takes to afford and maintain them. Yet, deep down I think we all know that just isn’t how life works. I wonder if the good stuff would feel so good if it came to us without effort? 

Maybe human life demands a yin-yang of joy and pain to manifest an authentic experience. Perhaps this ever moving dynamic actually promotes aliveness and should we rise to the challenge, propels us toward a mysterious bliss. Were we welded to only one orientation or the other, a kind of deadness would be spawned. All movement would cease, and stymied without motion, vitality would die.  

C.S. Lewis said, “The pain now is part of the joy then. That’s the deal.” I’ll try to keep that in mind knowing the inevitable farewell to come one day.