Pressing Matters

I had just settled in my comfy chair for a moment. It was still early-ish on a Sunday morning and the day stretched before me without anything in particular scripted, but much that was necessary looming. I always have chores, and I am currently working my way through about 7 library books with varying due dates (none of which happened to be in reach at that moment), but my plan was to only be there for a beat or two in order to put some sort of loose plan in place for the day.

I watched Yukon Cornelius, my confident-yet-interestingly-sensitive Chihuahua sort of slink into the room and head my way, despite the fact that there are dozens of warm sleeping spots he likes strewn throughout the house. I leaned back so he could come up into my lap, because I could sense that he Wasn’t Quite Right. He shivered more than usual* and gave off a puny vibe that isn’t typical for him on the regular. Usually when he comes to me in this state, we are outside and he’s been bitten by a snake or hurt his leg chasing something. I couldn’t imagine what had caused this, but no matter. He trembled in my lap and looked piteously at me. I touched him all over, performing a Snout-to Tail assessment like I’d been taught so many years ago in my Pet First Aid class. Nothing seemed physically wrong.

Even though I’d been about 30 seconds away from rising and moving on with my day, I pushed myself back in my recliner and gathered the nearest blanket around his 7-lb body. He nestled into that space in my lap where he fits like a puzzle piece, glancing (gratefully?) at me, and his shivering began to lose some intensity. My hand massaged his pencil neck right behind his ears and his eyelids began to get very, very heavy. A large exhale finally flowed out of him, he laid his tiny head down on my other hand, shivering gone. I abandoned my plan to rise. I mean, I’m not a monster! This otherworldly being had sought me out and entrusted his pitiful self to my care, completely ignorant to what I was “supposed” to be getting done right then.

Look, I’m sentimental about my dogs, of course. My career and experience didn’t spring out of thin air. And I often sit in contemplation, with or without my dogs. But that was not my intention when I sat down this morning—not right then. What was intended to be a pause to collect my thoughts and glance at the weather app on my phone to plan housework/yardwork/electronic work duties on my day off morphed into 90 minutes of succor to A Very Good Boy because that is, apparently, what we both needed in that moment.

“My dog is usually pleased with what I do, because she isn’t infected with the concept of what I ‘should’ be doing.” ~Lonzo Idolswine

I know this scenario is familiar to anyone who might chance upon this essay. When your pet settles in your lap, he has zero concept of What You Were Thinking of Doing, much less a reason why it needed doing. And, if you are like me, it is often necessary to gently remove her so you can attend to Something That Definitely Needs Doing, as much as it pains you. (Stable, fulfilled, social pets do not hold grudges when we must make our laps disappear. They adjust and are happy to seek our laps whenever they appear.)

But sometimes, there is nothing that needs doing except what is happening in that very moment, as pets are excellent at teaching us. The moment is all they care about, as the hands of the clock move, unperturbed, inexorably forward, whether or not the chores get done, whether or not the plans unfold as scripted, regardless of the tasks required. We spend so much time *doing* that we often forget that the moments we crave pass us by, never to return. If we seek to grasp them, we fail, surprised at their ephemerality. What does it feel like to stop and listen, ignoring all else? What does it feel like to resist the urge to grasp and simply to *be*? What does it feel like when we abandon What Needs to Get Done for What Needs to Be Left Undone? What are we creating in these unscripted moments of both tactile and numinous connection with these wild creatures who inhabit our lives?

The little dog dozing in my lap knows, and I’ll bet the one in yours does, too. Make sure you are listening, so you don't miss it.

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*my professional doggy colleagues (who own large breed dogs) are already giggling and rolling their eyes..."don't all chihuahuas shiver constantly?" No, actually. Not constantly, but have your laugh.