Wisdom from Dekker
Giving Thanks Without Rushing Past the Quiet
As I, Dekker the seasonal observer, lie by the fireplace (yes, I scoot closer than I’m supposed to), I’ve been noticing a change in the house.
There’s a smell of cinnamon and slow-roasting things. My person makes lists on paper and leaves them in stacks. Visitors stop by more often, and everyone seems to talk about “plans.”
I’ve heard it’s November—the month of turkeys, gatherings, and something called “gratitude.”
I like gratitude. I feel it every time someone scratches behind my ears without being asked. I don’t need a holiday for that. But I do wonder…
Why do humans try to do so much in a season meant for slowing down? Why do you race to feel thankful instead of sitting still and noticing it come to you?
So this month, I’ve chosen a few questions from friends who are wondering about how to handle traditions, grief, and how to give thanks when life doesn’t look how they expected.
Let’s sit by the fire and let the gratitude come quietly.
Question from Jonah (age 12):
“Dekker, my teacher says we should be thankful for everything,
but what if I’m not? Some stuff is just bad.”
Woof Woof, Jonah,
That’s an honest bark, and I like it.
Not everything is something to be thankful for. I’m not grateful for thunderstorms, or when someone steps on my paw, or the time I accidentally got shut in the pantry.
But sometimes… I’m grateful for what came after.
Gratitude isn’t always about liking what happened. It can also be about what it taught you, or how you got through it.
You don’t have to feel thankful right away. You just have to stay open to the idea that something good might still grow there.
Would it help to say, “I’m not thankful yet… but maybe someday”?
Question from Clara
“Dekker, this is our first Thanksgiving without my dad.
I don’t know how to feel thankful with an empty chair at the table.”
Woof Woof, Clara,
I’m sorry. I know what it means to miss someone so badly their absence feels like a draft under the door.
When my person’s friend passed away, she sat on the porch for a long time that week. I curled up beside her, and neither of us said a word. But I knew—she was carrying both love and loss at the same time.
You don’t have to choose between grief and gratitude. They can sit side by side, like two guests at the table.
Maybe this year, the most sacred part of your holiday won’t be the food or the decorations… but the way you speak his name out loud, or remember something he once said.
What if giving thanks also means giving space for what still hurts?
Question from someone named Maple (a young terrier):
“Dekker, what does it mean when people say to
‘honor those who came before’?
Does that mean dogs too?”
Woof Woof, Maple,
Yes. Yes, it does. I still think about the old shepherd who taught me how to stay with my person and not trying to pull ahead.
When people talk about honoring those who came before, I think they’re talking about listening. Remembering. Not rushing past the wisdom that came from someone else’s journey.
Some of the humans I’ve listened to this month have talked about Native ancestors, sacred lands, and stories passed down. I don’t understand all of it, but I do know this: when someone speaks from a long line of memory, you sit still and listen.
Even dogs know that. That’s how pack behavior is passed on.
You honor the past not by repeating it, but by carrying it with care.
Do you ever feel the tug of something older than yourself?
Question from Leona:
“Dekker, I feel bad because I’m not
hosting a big Thanksgiving. It’ll just be me and
my sister. Is that enough?”
Woof Woof, Leona,
Let me tell you something: some of the best meals I’ve ever had were shared with one person… and half a biscuit.
Enough isn’t about numbers. It’s about presence.
A quiet table. A shared look. A bowl of soup that warms both paws and heart—that’s more than enough.
Humans seem to think big is better. But I think small is where we notice the real stuff.
The sound of someone’s laugh. The way the butter melts. The silence between the words.
Would it help to remember: two hearts are still a celebration?
As November wraps its golden arms around the world, I hope you’ll pause between the planning and the doing.
Step outside. Feel the wind in your fur. Notice the smell of the earth beginning to rest.
You don’t have to feel grateful all the time. Just once in a while is enough. A tail wag here. A breath of peace there.
And if you’re remembering someone this season—human or canine—I hope their memory feels more like warmth than ache.
If you’ve got a question for me, I’d love to hear it. Drop me a comment or a message. I may be just a dog, but I’ve got good ears and a warm spot saved for you.
Until next time, may your belly be full, your heart be soft, and your days be slow enough to notice what matters.
Woof woof!!
—Dekker
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