Today began fairly typically for a pre-holiday day in off-the-beaten-track New Hampshire. I took the dogs out in the predawn hours, then listened to the news for as long as I could stomach it. Some days, though, I don’t get the news turned off soon enough, and the reports and rumors of wars, terrorist attacks, outbreaks of disease, economic ruin, and other real or fabricated human-created horrors that always seem to worsen this time of year make it difficult to focus my thoughts.
“Is this any way to practice thanks-giving or the peace and good will of the holiday season?” I ask the pets rhetorically as I invariably do when the human-created reality comes up short.
Violet, my old corgi sighs softly in her sleep, barely but politely acknowledging that my ranting penetrated her warm snuggly contentment. Violet personifies (dogifies?) animate peace. Sometime she sleeps on my office chair which I’ve covered with a soft washable rug that sheds almost as much as she does. But she loves that rug so there it will stay. She also loves that particular chair because its seat is about as wide as she is long and, if she positions herself just so, she can lean her stubby legs against the back of it. She then extends her neck, puts her ears back, and falls sound asleep. If something irritates me enough to make a derogatory comment loudly enough to disturb her, she opens one eye and gives me her “Lighten up” look before she drops off to sleep again.
Other times she sleeps under my desk in the cat bed that lies next to the center chimney because it provides a toasty haven when there’s a fire in the woodstove downstairs. Whittington the cat, however, does not sleep in the cat bed and never has. Not because Violet won’t allow him, but because he prefers to sleep with Watson, the hound. Cat and hound sleep on the futon in the tiny guest room/ library adjacent to my office. Every morning when I come up to the office, I find the cat sprawled on the futon like a striped boa casually dropped there by some all-night party girl.
But although Watson doesn’t object to sleeping with the cat and will even paternally groom him before settling in for a snooze himself, he will not jump on the futon and nudge the cat out of the way so he has room to lie down. Instead, he will study Whittington intently for a while, then come and nonverbally invite me to move the cat for him. As soon as I touch the cat, he curls up like a wooly-bear and I slide him unresisting to one end of the futon. Fifty-pound Watson then gets on the futon and carefully condenses himself into a remarkably small hound-ball next to Whit.
Every time Watson does this, I smile; every time I smile, he looks at me and Whittington purrs.
That look! That purr! Violet’s contented sigh! I challenge the most gifted writer or poet to describe in mere words all the feelings of thanksgiving, peace, joy, and good will toward members of all species that these elegant animal displays elicit.
After observing my pets, I recognized a dozen truths they exemplify on a daily basis that greatly enhance the quality of my life, and particularly at this hectic time of year:
- No matter how funny your shape, find a nice place to sleep that fits you, and then enjoy it to the fullest.
- Lighten up.
- Be willing to share your space with a friend.
- Ponder the situation carefully before nudging others out of their space.
- If you want or need help, be polite when you ask for it.
- Learn to communicate your message clearly and in the most energy-efficient manner.
- Stretch out when you can, but be willing to curl up if that’s not possible.
- Appreciate that not everyone views the world the same way you do.
- Allow yourself to be moved easily if this becomes necessary to enhance the comfort of others.
- Never underestimate the power of the most seemingly insignificant act of kindness toward another of any species.
- Get plenty of sleep.
- Whatever you do, commit yourself to doing it well.
Having realized all this in a matter of minutes, my immediate, far-too-human response is that I must rush out and get these animals truly wonderful gifts to express my gratitude for their gifts so freely given to me. Gourmet pet biscuits perhaps? Or maybe fluffy new beds or fancy collars? But then their contented sighs, purrs, and snores remind me of the greatest gift that any of us can give the animals in our lives: to take their lessons to heart for their well-being as well as our own.
May the holiday season grant all of us the willingness and respect for others of all species to do exactly that.
Today began fairly typically for a pre-holiday day in off-the-beaten-track New Hampshire. I took the dogs out in the predawn hours, then listened to the news for as long as I could stomach it. Some days, though, I don’t get the news turned off soon enough, and the reports and rumors of wars, terrorist attacks, outbreaks of disease, economic ruin, and other real or fabricated human-created horrors that always seem to worsen this time of year make it difficult to focus my thoughts.
“Is this any way to practice thanks-giving or the peace and good will of the holiday season?” I ask the pets rhetorically as I invariably do when the human-created reality comes up short.
Violet, my old corgi sighs softly in her sleep, barely but politely acknowledging that my ranting penetrated her warm snuggly contentment. Violet personifies (dogifies?) animate peace. Sometime she sleeps on my office chair which I’ve covered with a soft washable rug that sheds almost as much as she does. But she loves that rug so there it will stay. She also loves that particular chair because its seat is about as wide as she is long and, if she positions herself just so, she can lean her stubby legs against the back of it. She then extends her neck, puts her ears back, and falls sound asleep. If something irritates me enough to make a derogatory comment loudly enough to disturb her, she opens one eye and gives me her “Lighten up” look before she drops off to sleep again.
Other times she sleeps under my desk in the cat bed that lies next to the center chimney because it provides a toasty haven when there’s a fire in the woodstove downstairs. Whittington the cat, however, does not sleep in the cat bed and never has. Not because Violet won’t allow him, but because he prefers to sleep with Watson, the hound. Cat and hound sleep on the futon in the tiny guest room/ library adjacent to my office. Every morning when I come up to the office, I find the cat sprawled on the futon like a striped boa casually dropped there by some all-night party girl.
But although Watson doesn’t object to sleeping with the cat and will even paternally groom him before settling in for a snooze himself, he will not jump on the futon and nudge the cat out of the way so he has room to lie down. Instead, he will study Whittington intently for a while, then come and nonverbally invite me to move the cat for him. As soon as I touch the cat, he curls up like a wooly-bear and I slide him unresisting to one end of the futon. Fifty-pound Watson then gets on the futon and carefully condenses himself into a remarkably small hound-ball next to Whit.
Every time Watson does this, I smile; every time I smile, he looks at me and Whittington purrs.
That look! That purr! Violet’s contented sigh! I challenge the most gifted writer or poet to describe in mere words all the feelings of thanksgiving, peace, joy, and good will toward members of all species that these elegant animal displays elicit.
After observing my pets, I recognized a dozen truths they exemplify on a daily basis that greatly enhance the quality of my life, and particularly at this hectic time of year:
Having realized all this in a matter of minutes, my immediate, far-too-human response is that I must rush out and get these animals truly wonderful gifts to express my gratitude for their gifts so freely given to me. Gourmet pet biscuits perhaps? Or maybe fluffy new beds or fancy collars? But then their contented sighs, purrs, and snores remind me of the greatest gift that any of us can give the animals in our lives: to take their lessons to heart for their well-being as well as our own.
May the holiday season grant all of us the willingness and respect for others of all species to do exactly that.