Dog Life Lessons: WAG MORE!

It's late winter and the snowflakes are dancing in the air in front of me. Caught by a slight breeze, the white crystals parade first to the right and then to the left like chorus girls kicking their legs before me.

My brain seems to argue about the sanity of thirty degree weather and why any human would ever be willing to leave the comfort of a toasty warm home to venture outside. Thunder, a huge border collie mix, doesn't care about my brain's ruminations. He has many self-appointed jobs and one is to walk his humans.

We arrive shortly, as we always do on this route, to a barking, snarling Tasmanian Devil-dog named "Clutch." Clutch has lived at the end of an eight foot chain in a backyard most of his years. When he stopped being a cute puppy, he was forced to take on the role of a "backyard dog."

He snarls and barks frantically as we approach.

I love him dearly despite his ferocious mask.

I reach into my pocket and remove a treat. Thunder is, of course, disappointed. He knows that his human is going to take "his" treat and throw it to this undeserving barking mass behind the fence.

As I do this, Clutch quiets in anticipation. Reaching the gnashing teeth, the bone becomes one with stomach juices quickly.

My black and white friend who is leashed to me, nudges me. We continue our walk. At exactly twenty paces, we hear a single, quick bark. Since this has happened in the same way for years, I just smile. It's Clutch saying, "THANK YOU" in canine.

He always waits about 20 paces and always has the same short bark. It may be his only brush with human kindness today, but he never fails to acknowledge it.

I'm not one for sticky, oozing sentimentality. I know in my heart of hearts that if I ever crossed the boundaries of Clutch's backyard - those gnashing teeth would sink deeply into any fleshy limb available. Yet, I also know he's doing the best he can with what he has to work with.

Beyond the growling is a spirit that experiences what I experience. He knows first-hand what it's like to be cold and alone. He knows about boundaries that others impose. He reacts, often rightfully, with fear. Yet through all this, he still has the good grace to bark "Thanks" to a kindness.

Thunder is tiring now. His short legs that are undersized for his massive chest, land heavily in the accumulating snow. We head back home.

As we walk, I silently wonder how I am able to see past the snarling, barking of dogs and love them . . . but become quickly irritated with the equivalent in humans.

For example, when at the sandwich shop, the woman behind the counter barks, "Do you know what you want?" (with an air of contempt that has an underlying "stupid" implied) . . . I never resist.

I snap back quickly, "I want polite SERVICE!"

Could I ever resist such barking and offer her a kind word, instead of meeting a bark with a bark?

At that moment, Thunder looks up at me and wags his white tipped tail. It is an all encompassing, in-the-moment wag where all his ample rump moves rhythmically back and forth like a large woman swaying in a saddle. He must be thinking of the couch that awaits him. We are only thirty steps from the comfort of a wood burning stove.

Thunder settles onto his favorite couch and finds a pillow to rest his head. His job is done.

Thunder has taken me for a walk and another life lesson - one that I'll have to work on a lot in days to come . . .

"Wag more at HUMANS and seek warmth!"

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