What would they tell me?

It’s been a few years since my dog, Rocky, died at the young age of seven. His unexpected condition didn’t give our family much time to say goodbye. I often find myself thinking about him. I remember how he would prop himself up comfortably on the couch so he could lie there and look out at the world through the living room window. I always wondered what he was thinking. Now when I find myself looking out that same window, I too get lost in my thoughts. What would he want to tell me?

He smiled anyway

It’s funny because I know dogs can’t smile, but each morning he seemed to greet me with one, his tongue hanging out as he anticipated the day. No matter the weather he was always ready to go, with a spring in his step as we went for his morning walk.

The most amazing thing was watching him in his last days. He refused to let his circumstances change his demeanour. In obvious pain, he still chose to smile and wag his tail when he looked my way.

The best hello

He seemed to have a magical power of making each person he interacted with feel like the most important person in the world. His running up, jumping and licking not only delighted the recipient but also brought pleasure to him. Sometimes it was just a look of acknowledgement or a small wag of his tail. What a gift to bring joy to others so simply. I’m still learning this, every time I catch myself giving someone a half-hearted hello.

The plastic igloo

Rocky had a lot of quirks, but one memory that stands out is of him sprinting around the yard for no apparent reason, egging me on to try to catch him. As the game progressed, he would run into his plastic igloo in the yard and start digging madly. This of course only resulted in the loud scratching noise his nails made on the plastic bottom. It made no sense, but I could never stop laughing when he did this. I need to laugh like this more often.

The blanket

The previous example wasn’t only about fun. It was also about being his nutty self. I know that being a husky/malamute cross contributed to this, but he certainly had no inhibitions. I could throw a blanket on him and watch him wrestle with it to break free without a care in the world. This gave me a better show than going to the theatre. I’m still wrestling with my own blankets.

A squeak toy and a stick

Rocky didn’t have a lot of toys, but with one particular squeak toy he developed games he played all by himself that kept him, and anyone who watched, amused. Even on walks in the woods, random sticks became the centre of attention and seemed to bring infinite joy. What’s your squeak toy or stick?

The trail break

Life certainly can’t just be fun and games. I often remember, when going on walks no matter the terrain, that when we took a break he would just make himself comfortable. I marvelled at how his outwardly awkward position could look so comfortable. It’s so easy to overlook our need for rest, but maybe even more important is learning not to complain when we’re forced to slow down.

The mountainside

Being all in seems to be another superpower dogs have. They get lost in whatever activity they find themselves in. I could give Rocky a bone, take him on a walk, or just sit on a mountainside and quietly stare into the distance, and he would get equally lost in the moment. We looked at the city below, which from our perspective seemed to stand still. That is something I crave more of, learning to turn the switch in my mind off and be completely present.

Quiet friend, mischievous brother

Observing Rocky with others, but especially with my family members, had me amazed at how his personality seemed to change. He could be the quiet, passive friend to my daughter and then immediately switch to the mischievous brother to my son. He loved us in the way we needed him to. He helped me to see our differences and to celebrate them.

The basket

I took Rocky on trips in the car, on long hikes deep into the woods, and sometimes camping. At home he had a basket he slept in, and no matter where he found himself, he seemed to make it home the way he did when he lay in his basket. As I moved that empty basket out of the living room, it reminded me that I have the choice to focus on the emptiness I feel or fill it with the small piece of heaven Rocky gave me by sharing his life and joy.

The back porch

Rocky waiting on the back porch is a memory that still stops me in my tracks. He would look towards the kitchen door, anticipating my return to join him outside, no matter how long or short our separation. Seven years went by so fast, but they leave me with a lifetime of memories. When I walk out my kitchen door I’m reminded that you don’t need a long time to matter. His impact leaves me wondering if I’m using the time I’ve been given to the best of my ability, and in a way that makes a difference.

So today, as I sit in my living room looking out the window, I think I know what Rocky would want to tell me.

What is someone in your life wanting to tell you?

By René Boecking | explorewithrene.com