Slowing Down

My big, brown dog came into my life at a time that I needed a kick in the butt to get off the couch, go outside and explore the world (or at least some of it) on my own two feet.  As he aged and started slowing down, I found it helped me realize how much I had been craving a milder pace and some quiet time.  My walks with Finn were my way of taking a deep breath, connecting to him as he would  frequently look up at me with his bright eyes and giant smile. They were my moving meditation. Our morning walk was through one quiet park. Finn trotted and sniffed along the river for stories of what happened the night before. He would check back in with me then be off again to take it all in: squirrels, the scent of other dogs who had very purposely left their scent or perhaps the giant raccoon we'd often see late at night that certainly was not missing any meals as I gripped my coffee mug and thought about the day ahead of me.

During my afternoon break, we would walk through another park with giant trees along a different part of the river.  Finn would sometimes get fired up and bounce around with his ball in his mouth or drop it for our version of old dude fetch.  He would stand waiting and I would walk across the park and say "get your ball". There was never regret or remorse in his face as he merrily moseyed towards it and happily snatched it up. I admired his doggie ways and the calm that must come from thinking, "this is how we do it now". Sometimes, he would search for sticks or stare at a squirrel with his little ears all perked up in excitement then dilly dally along behind me. On days where we had more time, we'd often sit on the grass together and just breathe in the fresh air. Quite the opposite of what we did together in his younger days where his feet barely touched the ground as I tried to keep up with him.

Back then, we would go to Wiggly Field and I would throw the tennis ball over and over and over. Every single time, he would drop it like it was the greatest thing in the world, pounce forward with his giant tongue hanging out of the side of his mouth; so excited and entertained just to chase a ball. He had an intense infatuation with tennis balls, we'd often leave the park only after three "drop its". Halfway down the street, Finn would surprise me with yet another slobbery chomp. I will never understand how that boy could fit four tennis balls in his mouth!  We even tried Flyball once but he got so darn excited at the sight of SO MANY tennis balls flying around he could barely contain himself.

As summer approached, he was slowing down more and the midday walk through my favorite park was too much for him. I missed the long walk so much as it was my time to clear the cobwebs in my head and found myself mourning that a bit. But, also found grace and gratitude in quiet time spent just rubbing his soft ears or eating lunch next to him while he rested his big ol' noggin on my lap.  I smiled thinking of how our relationship had changed over the years. I did sometimes miss the fast pace we used to approach the world together but wouldn't trade the richness or understanding that comes from sharing so much time with my big lug.

One night, Finn had an anxious episode, out of nowhere. At our weekly vet visit the next morning, I was sleep deprived and a little emotional so my amazing veterinarian, dear friend and downright awesome human being Dr. Barb Royal said to me, "death is not the enemy, suffering is".

I reminded myself that over and over again as I struggled to determine if an anxious night, a 30-minute stair trip or yet another mad scientist medication/therapy/herbal supplement recalibration blew up in my face meant it was "time" or not.  No one tells you how much you worry or the weight that literally sits on your shoulders. I have to believe that no person sets out to hold onto their dog longer than their old bodies can handle; but we all know people who regret seeing their dogs struggle because they feel they said goodbye too late .

One thing that gave me peace as I tried to remind myself during those difficult moments that Finn was happy and spunky 23 hours a day was something given to me by a client and friend of mine Beth Bradfish, a metta meditation:

For Finn:
May you be peaceful and at ease,
May you be held safe from harm from within and without,
May you know that I will never allow you to suffer,
May you be happy.

For Me:
May I be filled with loving kindness,
May I be peaceful and at ease,
May I be held safe from harm from within and without,
May I be well,
May I be happy.

I said this everyday, multiple times a day for the last few months and still recite it as I continue on my journey. Too often we want to label life experiences as bad or good, but sometimes they just are. Through the sludge, we can find a new way of being or approaching the world. If it were not for Finn, I would never have discovered the beauty of a long walk, the joy of slowing down or the magic of a tennis ball.  Thank you, my friend. Like Finn, I never do anything halfway.  Here's yet another book that I'm working through: