Be A Dog

I got home from the gym and opened the kitchen door. The dog rose from his bed, looked at me expectantly and stretched. I tried to avoid his stare down. The one that said “You ARE going to come outside and throw the ball with me, aren’t you?” “No,” I telepathed back, still trying to avoid the pleading eyes, “its frigging 10 degrees outside. Even colder if you count wind chill. Do you even KNOW about wind chill, Rosco or does your hairy coat negate the necessity of that learning curve?” He clearly didn’t care. He may have needed to pee after being left, but as always; the ball was front and center. He yawned and let out one of his signature, low, growly howly notes to conclude the conversation. Still staring, however. Dang those puppy dog eyes.

“Come on!” I announced reluctantly. I walked over to the storm door, grabbing the handle firmly as the wind pulled hard, seeking that triumphant “wham!” all gusts hope to achieve when the door flies fully open. Rosco was now giving me the once over—he was beginning to understand what was about to happen. A classic toss and ditch was on the horizon. He knew I’d throw the ball. I knew he’d then chase it and pee. Ultimately we’d both be happy, so it was a fair trade. But I wasn’t going outside.

When he’d sauntered up close enough to me and the storm door to merit the momentary freeze I was about to experience, I opened the door for him, tennis ball in hand. He gave me one last longing glance and scooted into the cold, awaiting the ball’s release. As dictated by the toss and ditch, I catapulted the ball out into the yard; Rosco eagerly scampered after it. By the time he had reached it and had it in his mouth, I was fighting with the wind to get the door closed again. But as I stood there in the doorway, absent mindedly wrestling Mother Nature, I was struck by Rosco’s casual attitude to this biting cold. Having seen him cold and shivering before (he is a Terrier breed, after all), he HAD to be cold. But there he stood, next to his beloved ball, bladder full, hopefully sniffing the air. So intrigued was I that I remained planted, waiting his next move. He continued sniffing. After what seemed like a full minute, he started purposefully trotting around the yard, mission clearly in mind, only pausing briefly to do his stuff.

And as I returned to the warmth of the kitchen to watch Rosco from the window, it struck me that this was a good way to be: like a dog. Approach all situations with hope. Bravely forge onward, adverse conditions be damned. Even if you already know the conclusion, stop and take in the sights and smells along the way. And for Heaven’s sakes, make sure you enjoy your journey with purpose and conviction, especially if someone is watching. Just like a dog.