My wife and I are more obsessed with our dog Willis than Thanos was about finding all the Infinity Stones. He is handsome, smart as hell, and a born comedian….a textbook Jack Russell terrier. This slightly mighty canine is a perpetual motion machine stuffed into nine lbs of muscle, attitude, and spunk. Seldom a day has gone by in the Tonkin household since his arrival four years ago that Willis hasn’t inspired a laugh or brought more light into a room. He is my teaching assistant, hiking partner, confident, and best bud.
Recently, Mr. Willis (as my wife has taken to calling him) earned a new title: Mentor.
A little over a week ago, a two pound ball of fluff showed up at my house (courtesy of my brother-in-law Raife). Looking like a wet rat and smelling of cigarettes, this little terrier/chihuahua mix (a “cherrier”) was wobbly, thin, and in dire need of a home. Raife’s rescues were not a new phenomena in the family; as a landlord, he often comes across “unplanned” critters needing a home; our own Willis was the result of such a scenario. He was hopeful that the nicotine-flavored toy pooch would be a nice expansion of the Tonkin household.
With a little reluctance, I met Raife in my fenced-in backyard, where Willis had been contentedly chasing a ball. Raife handed the new dog to me; compared to Willis’ “beachbody” dog frame, this little creature felt as though she were assembled from chicken bones bound in stuffed animal fur, a fragile keepsake ready to shatter if she fell. With some trepidation, I placed her on the ground...and watched Willis turn into the best dog in the world.
Anyone who’s ever met Willis knows that he’s an intense dog; he runs, barks (a LOT….and loudly), and plays like a first-round draft pick trying to justify his huge salary. Terms like “chill time” and “take it easy,” are not part of his phraseology...but, like flipping a switch, he became an entirely different dog. He played gently with her. He let her chase him. He rolled her carefully, as not to hurt her neck or legs. He even slowed down to give the little cherrier a chance to gain her footing and be a part of the game.
My little Jack Russell was meeting the new girl “where she was at.”
I sat on the grass that Friday, literally 12 hours after the CDC had announced the repeal of mask requirements for vaccinated people in most situations, catching the analogy. In the same way that this new dog (whose name is now “Frida”) had to enter a new and different situation, our society writ large was getting ready to do the same thing. On uncertain legs and with ambiguous rules, we were all getting ready to enter into a common “backyard” to play together.
Willis’ gesture of approaching the unknown with gentility, rather than assuming that Frida was ready to “play rough” gave them both a chance to feel the other one out. Neither dog had any idea about where the other had come from. Rather than forcing her to come in at his level, a move that would likely have terrified the little pup, Willis acted as “the bigger dog” and chose to be kind, even if it slowed down his preferred routine.
Yes, these are fundamental lessons, but ones that bear repeating as we emerge from a year of pandemic, division, and focus on the extremes of our opinions. One step at a time, we will be stepping away from our phones, keyboards, and televisions and going back to public places and offices; we will be sharing stores and restaurants, doctors’ offices and amusement parks. These once-familiar spaces may seem a little foreign, especially to those with greater risks or fears about the virus.
Some of these people may have also experienced the severe illness or loss of a loved one. Conversely, there may be others who are even more angry at the end of quarantine about the loss of the past year for something they did not see as a threat...particularly if their family has suffered financially because of it.
Before we judge someone’s behavior, why not to try to understand where they are “at”...and to meet them there? If my little dog can be thoughtful enough to approach a newcomer with kindness and safe levels of interaction, surely we can do the same for each other as humans. Such decorum doesn’t mean that we have to share opinions or agree, but at least trying to understand where the “other” is coming from could go a long way to opening up a safe state of “play.” In the same way that Willis refrained from bringing his full force into his first interactions with Frida, we can avoid hurting someone by watching, listening, and treading lightly.
In the week and a half since Frida arrived, I’ve watched our dogs’ state of play get more intense. There’s some rolling around, growling, and occasionally a yelp or two; it’s what happens when the interactions get rough. At the same time, I’ve seen Willis allow Frida to get closer to him on the chair or to even eat out of his bowl. The familiarity between them hasn’t completely eliminated conflict, but their growing trust brings them back together. I believe that trust started with an initial showing of kindness and patience as they began to navigate a complex state of coexistence. For example, sharing dad's chair while he works from home:
At a time when individual stances on race, science, politics, and just about any other issue of public concern seems to end in confrontation and violence, caution is needed. I don’t mean to say that my dog’s simple lesson of entering conversations with gentility will fix everything. These are big, complex, and dangerous problems. There are no simple solutions for any of them. But generally speaking, peaceful solutions seldom come from a lack of understanding. Empathy does not equal agreement; instead, it means making an attempt to understand the path the other has walked. Compassion is choosing to go forth and interact with kindness, even when we don’t agree.
If our dogs can get it, what’s our excuse?
Nicely said my friend!!
ReplyDelete