Dog School

I can hear him barking everytime I pull into a parking space at my condominium. I open my car window and shut off the CD player in the car to hear if he is barking before I arrive; sometimes I drive through a different entrance to the parking lot to determine if he is barking as a result of seeing or hearing my car or just because he suffers from separation anxiety. Fortunately, it is the former. He stops barking soon after I shut off my car and by the time I reach the front door, he is silent.

The scene is always the same. As I open the front door, I hear his excited expelled huffs of air and the “thump, wack, thump, wack” of that muscular tail that has floored many papers from the coffee table and end tables in my condo. Unfortunately, he can not yet be trusted so he needs to be caged while I am out. Left to his druthers, he would roam in the condo and find things to chew on-window sills, wood blinds, couch cushions, TV remotes (I am now on my fourth), and door jambs. Better yet, he loves to rummage for food that is left at the back of the kitchen counters: full canisters of cashews, cake mixes and a full can of Coffee Mate. Ah, idle paws!!!

With some of these trials now behind him and me, my dog, Kokoro, teaches me the same lesson day after day. After I free him from his cage, he looks around excitedly for something to mouth. He usually brings out one of the three or four toys that are in the cage but quickly drops the one he picked up to find the ultimate toy-an Official Major League Baseball which has not a hint of ever being white. He is mouthing the ball as it shifts in his mouth; his tail is wagging so vigorously that his haunch is moving back and forth; his eyes are fixated on me; he is going up and down the stairs; if he could talk-“C’mon already let’s go play!!!!”.

I open the door and he shoots out like a shot. I call to him, “Kokoro”. He comes back to me, brushes up against me, then he trots about ten feet in front of me with a couple of looks back at me. Everytime I call him, he is back at my side. When we reach the field where he retrieves every throw I make, he drops the ball at my feet. His muscles are twitching. His eyes locked on the ball that I now hold in my hand. I raise my arm and he is already running. The ball lands in front of him, he tracks it, runs full bore and with one full swoop, lowers his body, moves his tail for balance and scoops up the ball in his mouth. He turns and trots back to me, drops the ball and gets ready to do it all over. This process is repeated until my arm gets tired which is much quicker than he does. As I stand marveling at my friend’s speed and agility and desire to retrieve, a smile creeps onto my face.

I smile because I realize that this game of retrieving is what he wants to do at that moment. Kokoro is living in the moment of his life. That realization is important because so many of us do not live in the moment. I am guilty. Recently, I was feeling low about my financial situation, career and judo. I entered a tournament and lost two matches very quickly. It was embarrassing. As I stressed about my ability in judo, I let that feeling of unworthiness invade my confidence in my career. I had a conversation with a friend about it and she provided insight to my supposed plight. Her words brought me comfort and started me back on track. The day after our conversation, I felt better but not great. I was still a little low. But when I came home and saw Kokoro’s tail wagging, the already wet with saliva baseball and his sojourns up and down the stairs, I knew that she was completely right. I was not living in the moment. I let the pressures and stress of this world eat me up. I walked off my path and lost sight of my way.

When I feel that I am getting off my path, I try to simplify the moment. Whether it is a bad moment or a good one, I know that it will pass. It is only a small portion of my life. Sometimes the bad moments last for longer than we would like and the great ones not as long as we desire. When I look upon Kokoro retrieving the ball and coming back to me for another throw, he is only concerned with that throw, on getting it back as he runs toward it, picking it up and returning to me. He is not concerned with the school bus that just passed, the kids walking on the sidewalk or the dog that is barking just a few feet away. He is in his moment-living for it, enjoying it, reveling in it. He teaches me this lesson everyday because I need to re-learn it each day.

When You Post or Print Please include: Article Provided Courtesy of Roger Jones www.zenshin.info and www.theselfdefenseco.com ©2008 all rights reserved.

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