“Nature does not hurry, yet everything is accomplished.” ~Lao Tzu
With two rambunctious kids, a stressful job, and a house to maintain, life was hectic. For many years, my children begged for a dog, and I would always say, “When you are older and life slows down a bit.”
Time was ticking by, but life was no less chaotic when my then preteens made yet another pitch. With more than a little trepidation, we brought home a little ball of Golden Doodle fluff who we called Murphy. How much trouble could he be?
In a short time, our cute puppy grew into a hundred-pound goofball. He fit into our lifestyle completely, which is to say, he added more mayhem to the already full and frenetic life we led. We adored him for the love and fun he brought to us, but I wondered when he was going to get over the puppy phase and slow down.
After two years together, he still yanked us along like rag dolls as he chased squirrels on our ‘walks.’ We tried, and failed, obedience training. Each day, he presented us with a newly chewed shoe or freshly gnawed windowsill when left to his own devices.
The final straw was when he unzipped my purse with his snout and ripped up my passport, requiring me to declare to the City Clerk that “the dog ate my passport” in order to replace it. Something had to change.
Instead of considering how Murph’s wild behavior might be a reflection of our own lives operating at warp speed, we settled on an external solution to his destructive antics: We doubled down and naively got a dog for our dog. A year-old Shih Tzu named Teddy Bear joined our merry maelstrom.
The kids called him Ted, a more ‘manly’ handle, and he settled into our house as his own. While things didn’t exactly slow down with his addition, Ted’s entertainment value was immediately apparent.
We would pause to laugh as Murphy and Ted wrestled, both growling and sneezing to indicate it was all playful fun. Murph would pick up Ted by the neck and run around the house. Not to be outdone, and despite being outweighed by his brother sixfold, Ted would stand underneath Murphy’s chest, where he couldn’t be reached, and nip at his forelegs, sniper style.
Ted’s only ‘trick’ was to seek me out when his big brother was getting into trouble, ratting him out for a tasty treat. My ridiculous Poodlehead never held it against his little pal, and I have since surmised that this was a ruse they cooked up to get treats that they could then share at their hapless owner’s expense.
We continued to race through life and its requisite ups and downs, joys and heartbreaks. Ted and Murphy continued to bring us together in laughter. They joyfully passed eleven years together before the Dood became ill and sadly crossed the rainbow bridge.
His friend Ted was a little lost for a time. One day, I tried to soothe him by suggesting we go on a car ride. My son Michael exclaimed, horrified, “Mom, that won’t help. The last time you took his brother for a drive, he never came back.” Ouch, but true.
Still, over time, Ted got used to his place as top dog of the household. At twelve, he had slowed down somewhat from the rambunctious mophead that had enjoyed a good run around the yard in true ‘zoomie’ fashion.
Rather than pulling at the leash like it was a race to the finish, he now trotted along beside me, sniffing every bush, tree, hydrant, and bug encountered along the way. Initially, I was impatient, tugging him after me in a bid to finish and check off ‘walk completed’ in my imagined to-do list. I was frustrated by the slowing; I was used to the go-go-go of my life.
‘What’s the rush?’ Ted’s plaintive eyes would ask when I dragged him away from the latest enticing smell. As I sat in exasperation after one such exchange, I turned to watch Ted quietly sleeping on the couch. His soft snores added a contented rhythm to the silence in the room.
I reflected: The kids were grown and living their own lives. The rush of birthday parties and soccer games was behind me, and life was shifting into a slower gear. Perhaps it was time for me to consciously step back from the former frantic tempo and embrace the spaciousness of a new perspective.
Walks started to take on a more contemplative pace. I let Ted take the lead—to stop and start as suited his mood. As he sniffed through the messages left by his fellow canines, I would look around me to pass the time.
I noticed the buds on the trees and the lilting robin’s song in spring. I took in the heady fragrance of lilacs and lilies of the valley. I was dazzled by the brilliant yellows of marigolds and the purple lavender stalks. I crunched the autumn leaves under my feet, appreciating the natural transition that comes before the barren winter and the promise of new life ahead in the spring.
We added music to our perambulations. Ted enjoyed a good eighties tune and never complained that it was outdated and passe. Eurythmics and The Clash topped his list. He especially liked it when I replaced lyrics and included his name: “There’s a breeze on the bike path. Walk the Teddy. Walk the Teddy.” (You sang that, didn’t you?)
Sometimes we would dance along the sidewalk. Despite his age, Ted could keep the beat. And even though my rhythm might have been slightly out of time, Ted was as oblivious as I was joyous.
While we didn’t break any speed records and my steps did not top ten thousand, we took in our surroundings with meditative awareness. Ted taught me the wonder and awe of the everyday by slowing me down enough to experience it.
Recently, Ted made his way across the rainbow bridge at almost seventeen years young. I miss him every day but know that he will be frolicking with his brother, enjoying a good wrestle and sniping from Murphy’s underbelly.
As for me, I honor our time together by remembering the lessons he left me. I reflect on my younger self and consider how life might have been different had I embraced these learnings when I was younger. How might I have enjoyed more quality time with my kids had I stepped off the lightning speed merry-go-round and simply embraced the moment?
I am privileged to have the time now, in their adult years, to slow down, take note, and appreciate an afternoon of frivolity. I do not take this for granted, and I credit my beautiful Ted for his insight.
I continue to enjoy daily walks with an attitude of gratitude and the spirit of my Zen doggo along for the fun. I stop to smell the flowers and feel the sun on my skin.
The eighties playlist still blasts out its timeless tunes, and I think Ted may have even passed along a few of his cool dance moves. And I’m sure even Annie Lennox would agree with the truth in my off-key replacement lyrics: “Sweet walks put me at ease. Ted preferred to sniff at trees.”
Thank you, my fuzzy friend. May we all find comfort and joy and embrace the beauty of slowing down through the new tricks my old dog taught me.
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