Wisdom from Dekker in Autumn

What to Do When the World Starts Changing Colors

As I, Dekker the observer, lie with my nose near the door and my paws stretched forward like a proper gentleman, I can tell… something is changing.

The air smells different. Crisp. Not sharp like fear, just… quieter. Like the trees are thinking about letting go.

It must be October.

My person has been pulling blankets up higher, and her tea smells spicier.

The wind comes through the window with stories, and I hear more sighs and fewer lawnmowers.

Something about fall makes humans feel things, and I am on full alert.

This is the season of change. And I know change makes some people nervous. (Some dogs too.) But maybe it’s not something to fear. Maybe it’s just the next thing.

So today I’ve gathered a few new letters—questions about what to do when things shift, when relationships get quieter, or when life asks you to slow down.

Let’s take a walk through the leaves together. I’ll try not to get distracted by squirrels.

Question from Georgia:
“Dekker, my best friend moved away and says
she’s just ‘too busy to talk.’ It hurts. What do I do?”

Woof Woof, Georgia,

Ouch. That kind of silence stings worse than stepping on a thorn.

I remember when a neighbor dog I loved moved away. We used to bark back and forth every morning—part conversation, part ritual. And then… nothing. Just fence and wind.

Sometimes it’s not that someone doesn’t love us anymore. It’s that their scent trail has changed. Maybe your friend is wandering in a busy forest and can’t smell her way back right now. That’s not your fault.

But I wonder—could you send a little bark now and then? Not a big howl. Just a gentle reminder that you’re still here. Waiting doesn’t mean forgetting. And silence doesn’t always mean gone.

Could you keep a soft spot by the fence… just in case?

Question from Thomas:
“Dekker, I retired this year and suddenly everything
is quieter. I’m not sure who I am without my job.”

Woof Woof, Thomas,

When I was younger, I had a job every day. A vest to wear. A role to play. But now, the vest stays off more often. Someone might wonder… Is he still important without it?

Yes. Yes, I am. You are.

You’re still the one your grandchild runs to. You’re still the one who knows how to fix a dripping faucet. You’re still the one who remembers the names of all the trees in your yard.

Being needed looks different now. It’s softer. Quieter. But that doesn’t mean it’s less real.

What if your worth isn’t measured by what you do, but by how much light you carry just by being?

Question from Luna the Cat:
“Dekker, why do humans get so nervous about aging?
My whiskers turned white years ago and
I’ve never felt more elegant.”

Woof Woof, Luna,

You bring up an excellent point.

Humans seem to believe aging is something to fight off, like a bath or a vet appointment. But I think of it more like falling leaves. You don’t blame the tree, do you?

In fall, the trees let go of what they don’t need, and somehow they become more beautiful. You can see their shape. Their story. Their roots.

When my own muzzle started turning gray, my person called it “wisdom fur.” I liked that. Not sure I would call it elegant; perhaps more like a wiseman?

What if aging isn’t loss, but clarity? A softening into who we were always meant to be?

Question from Violet
“Dekker, my grandma says she’s not afraid to die,
but I am. I don’t want her to leave.”

Woof Woof, Violet,

That’s a brave thing to say.

When I was a puppy, I didn’t understand why old dogs went away. I thought they’d always be in their beds, snoring. But now I know—we carry them. Not just in memory, but in how we love.

Your grandma sounds very wise. Maybe she isn’t afraid because she knows something you’re still learning: love doesn’t leave. It just changes shape.

When she does go, she’ll still be in the way you stir your tea, or how you hum when you’re nervous, or how you sit just a little longer in the quiet.

She’s not leaving you. She’s planting herself deeper in your heart.

The air is cooler now, and even I move a little slower on morning walks. But fall has never felt like an ending to me. Just a time to keep paying attention.

The trees are teaching us. The wind is whispering. The world is shifting—but not leaving.

If something in your life is changing right now, you’re not alone. I’m here. Watching the leaves fall, feeling the air sharpen, and noticing all the small, beautiful things you might have missed while life was racing by.

Have a question for me?
Leave a comment below or write me a note.
I may be just a dog—but I listen well, and I promise to bring my best tail-wagging wisdom.

Until next time, may your paws find warmth, your heart find quiet, and your days rustle with just enough change to keep you curious.

Woof woof!!
—Dekker

(Read more of my Wisdom HERE)