Midsummer Wisdom from Dekker
Have you ever noticed that humans become suspicious when a dog lies on the floor doing nothing?
They ask, “What are you doing down there?”
I am lying down.
This seems obvious to me, but humans apparently believe every activity should have a purpose, a goal, and possibly a small box beside it that can be checked when it is finished.
Lately, my person hasn’t been asking me to do as many things as she once did. I still pay attention. I still follow her from room to room. I still stand directly behind her when she is trying to turn around.
That last task may not be appreciated as much as it should be.
At first, I wondered if I was becoming less useful. A service dog is trained to work, and I have always taken my work seriously. I have picked things up, carried things, opened things, and helped my person move safely through the world.
Now I spend more time observing life from the floor.
But you can see quite a lot from down here.
I notice when my person needs to stop before she notices it herself. I know when she is worried because worry has a scent. I can feel sadness in the way her hand rests on my head. I know when she is happy because her whole body becomes lighter.
Perhaps usefulness isn’t always about doing something.
Sometimes it is about noticing.
My person says I bring life, joy, and happiness into the house. I am not entirely sure where I carry these things. They may be somewhere near my nose or in my tail.
Since humans often have questions about how to live, I have chosen a few that can best be answered from the floor.
Question from Maria
“Dekker, why does touch become so
important when we’re lonely?”
Woof Woof, Maria,
Touch is one of the oldest languages.
Puppies know it before they understand anything else. We press against our mother and our littermates. We learn that warmth means we are not alone.
Humans use many words when they are lonely. Sometimes the words help. Sometimes they make loneliness sound even bigger.
A hand held quietly can say what words cannot.
When my person is sad, I don’t ask her to explain everything. I lean against her leg. If she puts her hand on my fur, I stay still.
This is not difficult work, although it can interfere with my nap.
Perhaps you could ask for a hug instead of waiting for someone to guess that you need one. Perhaps you could hold a warm mug, wrap yourself in a soft blanket, stroke an animal, or place your own hand gently over your heart.
None of these things replaces another person. But they remind the body that comfort is still possible.
And sometimes, Maria, being the one who reaches out to touch another hand helps both hands feel less alone.
Question from Samuel
“Dekker, my eyesight isn’t as good as it once was.
I’m afraid I’ll miss too much of the world.”
Woof Woof, Samuel,
Humans depend a great deal on their eyes. Dogs use ours, of course, but we don’t always trust them.
Our noses tell us much more.
I can smell rain before it arrives. I know which person has entered a room even when I cannot see them. I can find a crumb that has been hidden beneath a chair for three days.
This is a gift I am willing to share whenever possible.
Perhaps the world does not disappear when one sense changes. It simply asks you to meet it another way.
Can you hear the different footsteps of the people you love? Can you feel the warmth of the sun crossing the room? Do you know the scent of coffee, pine needles, clean sheets, or the sweater of someone who has just come in from the cold?
Humans often look at a flower and say it is beautiful. Dogs put their noses into it and learn its entire history.
You may not experience the world in quite the same way you once did. But there is still much waiting to meet you through your ears, your hands, your nose, and your heart.
Just be cautious about sniffing strangers. Humans have rules about that.
Question from Ellie
“Dekker, how do I know what makes a day worthwhile?”
Woof Woof, Ellie,
Humans ask very large questions about days.
Dogs ask smaller ones.
Was there food?
Did someone I love come home?
Was there a comfortable place to rest?
Did anything interesting happen near the bird feeder?
A worthwhile day doesn’t have to be an exciting one. Some of the best days are almost entirely ordinary.
My person writes, reads, drinks tea, and occasionally drops something I can investigate. I nap nearby. From time to time, she reaches down and touches my head.
Nothing important seems to be happening.
And yet, everything important may be happening.
We’re together. We’re safe. We’re paying attention to one another. The day moves past the window, and we are here to notice it.
Perhaps that is enough.
The Job I Have Today
I still don’t know exactly what my current job description says.
It may include making my person smile, encouraging her to rest, accompanying her to every room in the house, and leaving fur in places where no dog has recently been.
I continue to take these responsibilities seriously.
The work we’re able to do changes. Bodies change. Days change. Even the jobs we have loved may begin to ask something different of us.
But perhaps usefulness does not vanish when our old work becomes smaller.
Perhaps it moves closer to the floor.
It becomes the warmth beside someone’s feet, the quiet attention we offer, the laughter we cause without intending to, and the way another living being feels less alone because we are there.
My most important work these days may be lying close enough for my person to reach me.
It is demanding work…but I think I can manage it.
A Question from Dekker
What little things in your life bring you joy?
Please leave me a comment. My person reads them to me, and I receive a piece of kibble for every thoughtful response.
Woof!
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