[Looking for the follow-up to last week’s challenge? See the end of this post.]
I suppose this one should be filed under the category of “don’t complain,” like so much about dogs, right? But this dictum became much more specific this past week as I observed our older dog, Chaser.
As she’s aged, Chaser’s physical impairments have also increased, slowly and stealthily. First, she took her time when lying down, circling perhaps one or two extra laps around the throw rug before finally flopping onto her chosen spot.
Next, the ritual morphed to include a labored descent toward the floor by alternating weight between her front paws, first the left with a thump, then the right, and so on until she inched her way down, as if rapping bongos in slow motion. Once she’d eased herself down that way, she could finally relax.
That same operation has now taken on a third step, angling the hind legs first before the bongo-beating begins. That way, she’s able to steady her rear as well, ensuring she doesn’t topple over on the way down.
Because of the weakness in her back legs, she’s also had to alter her regular movements around the house: when she must move backward, she can no longer simply reverse course, her hind legs no longer able to bear all the weight in that direction.
Instead, no matter how small the space, she pivots sharply to the left and rotates her entire body so she can continue to move in a forward direction and exit. It reminds me of those novice drivers who avoid backing into parking spots no matter what; they’d rather circle round the parking lot so they can glide nose-first into the empty spot.
Now, all of this physical decline–paired with all of the additional steps to get virtually anything done–might sound really sad and depressing to some of us humans. After all, the old girl is so arthritic that she can barely move freely anymore.
And at this point, you may well be asking yourself, “Why do they allow her to keep going this way–? That’s animal cruelty!”
In response, I’ll share what a friend told me after they considered putting their own dog down at age 13.
The vet asked, “Think of the things she has always enjoyed in her life. Does she still enjoy most of them?”
Well, in our sweet Chaser’s case, the answer is a resounding “YES.” Despite her advanced years. Despite her leisurely (to put it kindly) pace on walks. Despite her no-longer-slim-and-dainty ankles. Even despite her sore muscles and joints that require so much accommodation.
Despite it all, Chaser is still very much immersed in living. Each morning after breakfast, she strolls over to the front hall where the leashes hang on hooks, she bops her own leash with her nose and glances back at us as if to say, “I’m still in! When do we leave?”
In the car, she sits at full alert and watches through the window as the trees, cars, houses and anything else whiz by. While outside, she still sniffs at each bush and tree along our path with the same gusto she had as a young adult. And she’s more than enthusiastic when it comes to scarfing down my homemade peanut butter treats.
And yet. . . even with her continued zeal in all those areas, there’s no mistaking that Chaser experiences some pain.
After we first started her on anti-inflammatory meds, I asked the vet how we’d know if they’re working, whether the pain was gone.
“If she’s limping, there’s still pain,” she said.
These days, Chaser limps less than before. But still limping.
We tried moving her bed down into the den so she wouldn’t have to navigate the stairs every day. But she grew up sleeping in the room with us, and refused to have any of it. The first night, she lingered at the foot of the stairs where we’d piled a chair and some plastic bins to block her way, and whimpered and whined until we finally relented and let her come back up.
With Elsie, our first dog, my husband carried her up and down each day. But now, over five years later, he’s no longer able to haul 60+ pounds up fourteen steps and ensure that both of them are safe. So it’s up to Chaser to get to the top (mostly) on her own.
Our routine goes like this: I remove the pieces of furniture that had been blocking her during the day. She ambles over to the stairway, glancing up to the top and then back at me, as if to say, “Do you really expect me to climb all the way up there?”
I reassure her that she can do it. I place my palms gently over her haunches to let her know I’m there in case she needs me.
Then the slow ascent begins. Stair by excruciating stair, she heaves herself upward, first front paws, then hind legs lagging behind. If she stumbles and slips, I’m there to keep her bum in place so she doesn’t tumble back to the bottom.
I can’t tell you how much I admire her in these moments. Her drive, her determination, her persistence. If her front paw misses a step or if a back leg gives out, I’m there. When that happens, she waits a few seconds, composes herself, and soldiers on.
Eventually, we always make it to the top, where she slowly pads her way into the bedroom and settles in her favorite corner, beat-beat-beating that bongo as she lowers herself to the carpet.
Kind of puts that tempter tantrum about stubbing my toe into perspective, doesn’t it?
This week’s challenge: Ignore minor physical impediments.
This week, I’ll attempt to channel some of Chaser’s stoicism when it comes to health and wellness. Apart from ongoing sinus issues that never seem to disappear entirely, I’m prone to daily aches and pains as well, stiffness in the mornings and all the usual complaints of middle age.
Time to power through them all for as long as I’m able. No whingeing about minor irritations or physical inconveniences. Undoubtedly, the hubs will appreciate the absence of my usual grunts and groans as I get going in the mornings or the dearth of complaints about how much “body maintenance” is required to keep me moving these days.
You in on this one? Let’s do this.
Follow-up to last week’s challenge: Forgive Everyone Everything. How did it go?
What struck me most this past week is how easy it is to hang on to small grudges, to fault people for the little things that, as they say, won’t matter one whit in five years.
I was determined to let those little things go, and that specific task turned out to be more feasible than I would have imagined. Hal Elrod, author of The Miracle Morning, recounts how he learned to let things go: Allow yourself to feel whatever it is–anger, frustration, disappointment, whatever–for five minutes, and five minutes only. After that, you tell yourself, “Can’t change it,” and move on. I decided to apply the principle to forgiveness, too.
Taking Hal’s advice, I attempted to just let things go, even the things I’d argued about countless times before (Why haven’t you mowed the lawn this week? But you said you’d fix that towel rack in the bathroom, and I’ve had to hang my bath towel over the top of the door for five days now. The phone company charged me twice for the same month and it won’t be fixed for at least another month. Every time we have a brunch date, you show up 10-15 minutes late. Is it really that difficult to text me and let me know you’re stuck in traffic? . . . . and so on).
These are mundane disturbances, interruptions of daily activities that, in reality, merit no attention at all. It’s true, in five years, I won’t remember a single one of these inconveniences. Given the much larger disturbances occurring around the globe at the moment, it’s not that hard to gain some perspective. These small annoyances don’t truly matter, and they won’t change my life.
Long-standing contention between my sister and me, on the other hand, carries a lot more weight. Or the anger and resentment I still feel when I think of my ex-husband. And the heaviness associated with my father, who passed away at the height of Covid before we could resolve the last of our decades-long differences.
How to deal with those more ingrained, recalcitrant reasons to forgive? It’s been the work of my adult life (in other words, the work of therapy) to try to work out some of this anger, this need to forgive. Was there any chance I could accomplish any of it based on this personal challenge?
So I dove right in. I reached out to one of my friends with whom I’d had a rift during the pandemic, and whose company I missed. Just a short text to see if we could chat. Nothing monumental, no recriminations or accusations; just a chance to talk.
It felt good. I wasn’t even concerned about the type of response I’d receive or whether I’d receive one at all. The simple act of taking that action, without anything on the line or any expectation, provided the relief I sought.
Embracing forgiveness fully can take time. Another tactic I’ve come to rely on is the Hawaiian forgiveness meditation, the Ho’ponopono, in which you basically chant four statements, in any order that pleases you: Thank you, I love you, I’m sorry, I forgive you.
I tend to repeat these lines in my head as I drift off to sleep, conjuring the face of the person I wish to forgive. For the first year or so that I engaged in this practice, I felt nothing whatsoever. In fact, it still doesn’t feel like anything is happening as I repeat the words in my head, even now.
But I think the magic must occur while we sleep, while our brain turns to other realities and dimensions. And let’s not forget that sleep is also when our bodies repair and restore. The restorative action, I imagine, applies to our thoughts, beliefs and feelings as well, since I’ve noticed in recent months, when I think about those people I believe have hurt me in the past–the ones I would like to forgive–the stitch in the heart stings less, is less intrusive or distracting.
And it makes me happy to be just a little more dog-like in that one way.
How about you? Did you have an opportunity to forgive? How did it go?
I love the phrases from the Ho’ponopono. They are so powerful for healing and moving forward. Thanks for sharing!