Dekker Sleeps on the Job
Dekker is a world-class service dog with a knack for rescuing me from my constant clumsiness. His many talents include opening and closing doors, providing steadfast support when stepping off a curb, and, his favorite…opening the refrigerator to fetch a can of soda for me.
This last achievement needs some fine-tuning as the last time he tried this; it resulted in a comical bottle tornado from his enthusiam.
Looking at me with pride, he waited for his piece of kibble. I told him we would stick to fetching my slippers instead of soda cans. So far, I haven’t left my slippers in the refrigerator, but you never know! Dekker will be there if I need him!
For instance, he loves to write blog posts, and once a month, I get a break (except for transcribing) as he either writes about life as a service dog or responds to human questions.
He has been sleeping on the job lately and not coming up with interesting answers to simple questions, so I decided I would share some of the things I have learned from Dekker. You can read Dekker’s posts and articles about service dogs here.
One of Dekker’s most profound lessons for me has been to live in the moment. While I begin my day with a to-do list and a prayer he simply waits— chin on the floor, tail twitching, and eyes following my every move.
Then I get preoccupied with writing blog posts, dashing to the grocery store for yogurt, and returning a phone call.
And Dekker waits.
Between these daily whirlwinds, I may throw in a load of laundry, answer some emails, and eat a banana. I often forget to cherish the present moment.
While Dekker waits.
Whether I am running errands or in a leisurely conversation with a friend, Dekker is right by my side, indifferent to the location, be it pharmacy or post office.
And Dekker waits, big brown eyes following every move I make.
His quiet waiting reflects a profound meditation on stillness that I often overlook in my hectic life.
Why do I put so much energy into thinking about doing everything “right?” Dekker has taught me that what really matters in life is getting your ears scratched and having someone to love.
When it comes to love, Dekker has taught me that nothing is more important than presence.
No matter where I am, Dekker is there. It may be a physical place by my chair as I read. He is there with his head on my foot.
Or I may be in an inner place of grief or loneliness.
Dekker is there, his head on my shoulder—a constant, undemanding presence.
That’s how I want to be in life. To those I love. To those I meet in a day, as well as to strangers who are serving me in stores and over the phone.
I so often catch myself checking my iPhone, planning my next errand, or thinking about what to have for supper. I am double-tasking instead of being present to whomever I am with.
Appearance matters little to Dekker. He gladly submits to grooming sessions for a shiny coat but has no interest in gazing in a mirror daily.
I am not an excellent mirror gazer myself, but I do care what people will think of me. I don’t believe this kind of vanity is found within the animal kingdom. I take that back…I used to have a parakeet who preened himself for hours in his mirror. I guess there are exceptions.
Does Dekker worry about where his next meal comes from?
No, he trusts that there will be food because I love him.
Does he know about the homeless and hungry people in town? Does he care about abandoned animals that end up at the shelter? How does he feel about cats left outside to fend for themselves? I can never be sure what he knows about those who go without. But I care.
I am learning to grow in love through the constancy of Dekker’s love. I realize that love is expressed by action. It isn’t words that will feed the hungry or save the abandoned. It’s a case of food dropped off at the shelter…both the people shelter and the animal shelter.
Of course, I love Dekker. (He’s extremely loveable if you haven’t met him) but he reminds me that not all pooches…or people…are so loveable and that they get hungry, too.
Of course, there is one caveat I must mention. I said he doesn’t worry about where his next meal comes from, but he does get excited when the hands on the clock point to a certain hour.
Dekker knows how to tell time, and he is always on his feet for dinner at the right time, just in case I forget. When he reminds me to feed him with those big brown eyes and tail wagging, I realize that many starving people have lost their excitement about being fed.
They have lost their trust in people responding to their big brown eyes and have let their coats get very scruffy.
I wonder if we as a society have lost the ability to look into their eyes and remember when they reflected love instead of despair.
His trust in my care reminds me of the importance of trust in the bonds we share with others. Dekker’s gentle reminder to feed him reminds me to provide for those who have lost their trust in love.
When Dekker has his bright red service jacket on, he acquires a different persona. He knows the difference between being ‘on the job’ and kicking back at home.
How do I differentiate my roles in life? Now that I am retired, I don’t have a ‘uniform’ that reminds me of my responsibilities as a waitress, a nurse, or as a pastor. I have learned that what I wear does impact what I expect to do. So today, I put on a unique hat, a ‘writing chapeau,’ to help me concentrate on my job. Do you think it will help me write better? I am hoping so. Dekker’s jacket helps him.
There is so much to learn from Dekker; I have only scratched the surface. What have you learned from your furry friends? What we learn from them is quite distinct from what we learn from books and offers invaluable insights into the beauty of living in the moment, the power of love and presence, and the importance of trust in life’s journey.
