The Love of Dog

My ambition in life is to someday be the person my dog thinks I am
—Emily Maughan

My annoyance at the impeccable muddy paw print in the middle of my freshly printed manuscript is a sure sign that I have lost sight of the simple perfection of life.

My husband and I share our lives with two Rhodesian Ridgeback’s, an ornery tabby cat and an old, but full of beans, thoroughbred horse. Our animals are often my greatest teachers—they are my “significance barometer.” They assist me in seeing when I am off track, when I have forgotten the joy of the moment. They show me the extraordinary gift of the ordinary things in life.

As a newly married couple, we decided it was time to have a puppy. Many choices faced us—how would we determine the right variety? Then one day I met a hunk named Rhett. I walked, unsuspectingly, into our local vet and there he was—100 pounds of solid muscle, a deep reddish brown, a gorgeous square head. I begged my husband to come see him. When we arrived, we waited for a few moments until two majestic creatures strolled in. Rhett, headed straight for David, crawled up and across his lap, went to sleep and farted with contentment.

We were hooked. After carefully interviewing breeders, we finally brought home our first, precious child, the love of our lives, a seven-week-old Rhodesian Ridgeback puppy. We named him Jaxson. He was cute, sweet, and tinier than our cat. We couldn’t believe our good fortune. We took him everywhere to introduce him to this beautiful world.

Then he ate his first—and my favorite—pair of shoes. I was fuming. But there he was wagging his tail, staring up at me with his caramel eyes, black muzzle and wrinkled brow. At that moment I knew how insignificant those shoes were compared to my love for this dog. My capacity for acceptance proved greater than I ever imagined before.

When my attitude calls for an adjustment, all I need to do is observe my dogs. Roscoe, our youngest Ridgeback, teaches me the pleasure of being happy. In fact, he is happiness. We have a game we play for pure joy. I am transported as I observe him, ripping and tearing up and down the hill, over logs, twisting and turning through bushes while he narrowly averts any obstacles in his way. We yell “run around”—not exceptionally eloquent—but it keeps him going at a velocity both inspiring and terrifying.

While I write, it’s especially crucial that I keep my significance scale close to zero; therefore I periodically watch them as they gaze out the window, seeming to meditate, but more likely scouting chipmunks. These dogs know how to enjoy life. They lie around in the sun on the deck or under a tree in the dirt. We cook for them, we rub their bellies, and they wag their tails, fart and groan. Although Dog is God spelled backwards, it actually spells love. Pure love.

Animals can inspire us to be less busy, more present, less worried, more joyful, and more passionate about life. They will never judge us for the things we do or don’t do. Animals don’t complain. They don’t create drama. They don’t regret the past, fear the future or take themselves too seriously. And they teach us to be excited about the little things, the simple pleasures in life—dried dog food for dinner (again) never seems to lose its magic.

If we are open and willing, animals can teach us to be better humans. Maybe one day I will be the person my dog thinks I am.

Previously published in the July edition of Mountain Connection magazine www.mtnconnection.com

Kristen Moeller is a life coach, a radio show host, a speaker and the author of the soon to be released book “Waiting for Jack” which her dogs helped her write. Please contact her by visiting www.waitingforjack.com