Through the Eyes of a . . . Dog

Children.  I don't have them.  But, as an aunt, and as an honorary aunt, I get to experience

some of the joy, awe, and awakening of the senses that are brought about when spending time around children, young ones in particular. 

I can't help but appreciate--despite my propensity for walking briskly and deliberately, and for getting to a destination without dawdling or delay--the way that children tend to stop every ten paces or so to marvel at a dandelion sprouting up through a crack in the sidewalk, or an ordinary rock, or a piece of trash, or a stick.  The little ones stop to take it all in, even while on the way to the playground, a soccer game, or an outing to get ice cream.

It's an eye-opening experience.  It's more than that.  Being around young kids awakens all senses and makes a person feel and experience things more deeply.

I don't have kids; but, I have something that I think is just as good at reminding me how to love, trust, and live with the eyes and the heart of a child.

I have dogs. 

And, like children, they remind me...

To make friends...

To enjoy the company of others...

 To slow down and look around.

 To explore...


Like children, to discover...

And, like children, to play...

More than just dogs--which I happen to believe share nearly all of the admirable traits of children (and a just a few of the challenging ones)--I have Atticus. 

Oh, my dear, sweet Atticus, who enthusiastically approaches and greets every person and dog on the horizon as if he/she is the guest of honor.  Each new dog, whether rottweiler or dachshund, puppy or old, is a potential new friend or at least someone worthy of an introduction.  He believes deeply that all other people and dogs are good and just want to play.  And on the rare occasions when he isn't met with the same smile, sniff, or pounce that he extends, he departs politely, with no dampening of spirit, eager for the next good thing.  Next year, if we revisit Cannon Beach, we may actually do something I swore I never would do--get him a cute little doggie jacket. On it, we'll put, "Welcome to Cannon Beach.  I'm Atticus, and I want you to let everything go and just have fun...ideally with me."

 

Atti.  He doesn't simply walk or run; he crouches, prances, and pursues; he pounces, darts, and dodges.  He lets the ears fly and tongue wag, and nothing seems to get him down as long as he is with his people and out in the world.

As if Atti weren't enough for inspiration, I have Luna, sweet Luna, from whom I learn just as much as I do from Atti.  She has the same joie de vivre as Atticus, but she expresses it differently, with all the wisdom of an eight year old.  She shows me how to be a free spirit, while living in the real world. 

I don't think there is such thing as a less-than-awesome weekend-retreat to Cannon Beach, especially with dogs in tow; but, last weekend was particularly good.  I experienced the beauty of life at the ocean with all of the senses, in a way greater than before, and all without a kite (next time). 

I, maybe even more than my companions, took in the smell of misty, salty sea air; and, the feel of sand grains, of cool wet sand, of soft dry powdery sand, of sandy feet, and of wet, sandy jeans.  The touch of the wind--sometimes soft, more often brisk or forceful.  The constant hum of the sea that, in many ways, doesn't sound all that much different than a distant freeway, yet somehow we revere it.  The intermittent crashing of waves, the cacophony of the seagulls, the soft conversations between people walking past.    The taste of salt left over on my skin after a day at the shore, followed by a glass of good wine and grown-up conversation.  

It was a wild, precious weekend, spent at the ocean, and relished as best done vicariously through a dog.  If you don't have a child or a dog in your life to teach you how to live, find one, or at least spend the day with one.

To see the world in a grain of sand, and heaven in a flower.

Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,

And eternity in an hour.

~William Blake, "Auguries of Innocence."

Looking Back

How many times, when asked in an interview if one has any regrets, does the interviewee says something along the lines of..."No, no regrets"?   It seems nearly every time.  I kinda get it.  Like all those folks who say they have "no regrets," I appreciate the fact that I wouldn't likely be where or who I am today if it weren't for some of those so-called "regrets."  In a certain respect, it is the "regrets" and I what I have done with them that have made me who I am and have made my life what it is today--indeed, something for which I am extremely grateful.
And yet, that does not mean that--despite being perfectly happy and thankful for the very spot that I am in at this moment--a spot that I quite possibly wouldn't be in if not for many of the so-called "regrets," there are already so many things in my short life to date that I probably would have done differently if I had them to relive all over again.

When I look back over this life of mine that is so much richer and better and kinder than anything I deserve, I have "regrets." Yes, I have regrets. And not just the trivial things like my hairstyle in high school or the watermelon pink pants that I bought. No, I mean the real kind--the "regrets" that www.bing.com defines as "feelings or expressions of sorrow and guilt for a past action or event that you now wish had not happened or had happened differently." Real regret.

Looking back, I regret that I was more preoccupied with getting good grades and impressing my teachers than I was with actually learning and understanding.

I regret that I was more concerned about preparing for my future than I was about living in the present.

I regret that I was quite so "straight-laced" in college and growing up, and that I wasn't more open to new people and new ideas.

I regret that I let myself be influenced by concern about reputation and success, instead of figuring out what really mattered to me and pursuing that--regardless of the implications or what people might think.

I regret that so many times in life I have put myself ahead of others instead of putting others first.

I regret that I haven't done all the good things that I should or could have done.

I regret unrequited love--from both perspectives, because it hurts and makes no sense.

I regret that I was so afraid of failing or making mistakes or looking silly.

I regret that my perspective has been to focus on the two wrong answers rather than the fifty that are right.

I regret not always being present.

I regret associating the approval of others with success and self-worth.

I regret thinking (as I often still do) that my presence and my actions don't really matter.

I regret that I've judged others without having walked in their shoes.

I regret pride and fear and selfishness.

And, I wonder, so often, where and who I would be if I had none of these regrets.

I will move forward, trying to live tomorrow better than today, living intentionally and trying to learn something from yesterday.   I do not regret knowing that I likely will have more regrets.  After all, even with regrets, life can be quite full ....who knew?

Here's looking back at the highlight of April...Easter... A weekend when there were few, if any, regrets.

The Dying Devereauxs: Leo, Jim and Laurie, and Scot.  One regret...we didn't have Jenny!

We love a good egg hunt...and Leo learned quickly!

Devon's a master.

Devon helped us start a new Easter tradition:  the egg toss!



Hard Boiled Eggs are NOT allowed in the egg toss, baby!  No regrets.

Of course, the egg toss isn't for everyone...and that's okay.