Dekker Reflects on Retirement
I have been thinking about this thing called retirement.
When I say thinking, I do not mean the way humans think. Humans sit in chairs with notebooks and coffee, wondering what everything means.
Dogs are more direct. We think with our noses, our ears, our bellies, and the very important question of whether anyone nearby might have a piece of kibble.
Still, this is a big change, and I believe it deserves a few words.
Last month, my person told you I am going to fully retire as a service dog in October.
I guess you might say I am “semi-retired” now, learning to stay home. And manage two pesky cats.
When that official day comes I will no longer wear my jacket when we go out.
I will no longer have to keep one eye on the world and one eye on her every minute. I will no longer carry the quiet responsibility that came with being “on duty.”
Do not misunderstand me. I am very good at my job. Excellent, really.
When I wear that jacket, I know who I am and what I am supposed to do.
My person is the whole point. Her safety is the point. Helping her move through the world with a little more confidence is the point.
It is good work. I am proud of it.
But even a very good dog comes to a time when it is right to release some responsibilities.
My person has been using that word lately, release.
She has talked about it in Legacy Circle. She has written about it.
I have listened from the floor, as I often do, with one ear open and one eye on the kibble jar.
For a dog, release is simple. The command I know for this is “give.” My mouth opens and lets go of the stick I was carrying.
I will be letting go of other things too. I will release my jacket.
I will release my constant watching, and instead I look forward to really enjoying looking around, or falling deeply asleep.
I have released the idea that I must be useful every minute in order to be loved.
That last one may be important for humans, too.
Retirement does not mean I will no longer be helpful. It means I will be helpful in different ways.
I will still know my person’s routines. I will still keep her company. I will still pass her my food bowl so she does not have to lean down for it.
Some might say I’ll do this because I want dinner faster, but I prefer to call it mutual care. Win-win!!
I will also enjoy a much broader social circle. When someone comes through the door, I will be free to greet them properly…like any other pup eager to meet new people.
When I approach, the tail begins. But I will get to lean in just enough to remind them that my ears are soft, my head is available, and my heart is open to smiles and scratches.
I believe retirement is when you get to set down a role and still be yourself.
You may release a responsibility and still have value. You may stop doing one kind of work and discover that love remains.
And now, because I will always be a dog of experience and wisdom, I will answer a few reader questions.
Dear Dekker,
I have recently retired, and I do not know what to do with myself.
I thought I would feel free, but mostly I feel lost. What do you suggest?
Signed,
No Jacket, No Plan
Dear No Jacket,
First, take a nap.
I am serious. Humans often rush to fill empty space because they are afraid of it. Dogs understand empty space better. Empty space is where smells drift in. It is where sunbeams land. It is where you notice that someone has dropped toast.
You do not have to know your whole new life at once. When I learned that I would soon retire, I did not immediately create a five-year retirement plan. I sniffed. I rested. I watched. I learned which visitors were most likely to have kibble.
Begin there. Notice what still calls to you. Notice what feels like relief. Notice what you do when no one is grading you.
Your new life may arrive quietly, one small pleasure at a time.
Dear Dekker,
I feel guilty that I am enjoying retirement.
So many people still need help, and
I wonder if I should be doing more.
Signed,
Resting But Uneasy
Dear Resting,
Guilt is a strange human habit. Dogs do not usually feel guilty for resting. We assume rest is part of the design.
You can still help. I plan to continue to help. I will pick up my food bowl. I will keep my person company. I wikll bring joy to the door when someone enters. I will continue to make people smile when they did not know they needed to.
But the day will come when I will not wear my jacket anymore.
There is a difference between offering love and carrying the whole world.
You are allowed to enjoy this season. Your joy may be useful in ways you cannot measure. A rested person is often kinder. A peaceful person has more room inside. A person who has released the need to be necessary may become a gift simply by being present.
Dear Dekker,
I am not retired, but I am tired.
Everyone depends on me.
How do I know what to release?
Signed,
Still Wearing the Jacket
Dear Still Wearing,
This is a good question.
When I wear my jacket, I accept certain responsibilities. But still, I do not chase every squirrel, answer every sound, or respond to every person calling my name. I know what is mine and what is not mine. That won’t change.
Humans could learn from this.
Not every need belongs to you.
Not every problem is your bowl to carry.
Not every voice calling your name requires your full attention.
Start small. Release one thing that is no longer truly yours. Release one expectation that makes your tail droop. Release one unnecessary “yes.” Then watch what happens.
You may discover that the world does not fall apart.
You may also discover that you can breathe.
Dear Dekker,
What is the best part of getting older?
Signed,
Curious Human
Dear Curious,
The best part is knowing where the sunny spots are.
Also knowing who keeps treats in their pocket.
Also, understanding that love does not always look exciting. Sometimes love looks like lying nearby. Sometimes it looks like carrying a bowl. Sometimes it looks like greeting each person as if their arrival matters.
Getting older has taught me that every season has its gifts. My working years gave me purpose. My retirement years will give me softness, freedom, and a wider circle of hands willing to scratch behind my ears.
I will not stop being useful.
I will not stop being loved.
I will simply move into a new kind of faithful living.
And now, if you will excuse me, I believe someone is at the door.
I will release many responsibilities, but welcoming visitors is not one of them.
Dekker reminds readers that he needs
to know where to send his monthly posts…
