How to Love When the Stakes Are High: 10 Lessons My Old Dog Taught Me
“Before you cross the street, take my hand. Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful boy.”
-John Lennon, “Beautiful Boy (Darling Boy)”
Photo description: Jersey enjoys a nap in my arms, soaking up the sunshine and love on a sunny day in San Francisco.
Photo credit: Isabella Latimer
They say you can’t teach old dogs new tricks, but they can certainly teach us new ways to engage with life.
As I write this, my old boy—my 10-pound best friend—is curled into a tiny ball in his favorite bed, snoring so loudly that he occasionally startles himself awake. His name is Jersey, named after the U.S. state where my partner and I met, and he’s thirteen years old. His eyes are cloudy, his fur is gray where it used to be brown, he can’t hear the doorbell anymore, and a CCL tear last year reduced our daily walks from brisk 2-milers to 20-minute “sniffaris.”
But he hasn’t always been old.
When we first adopted him from the SPCA in Vacaville, CA on a hot summer day in 2015, he could easily clear a 4-foot baby gate and sprint like a cheetah after audacious squirrels who dared to enter his territory. He would wolf down ice cream cones—“pup cups” from Sonic—and then beg you for the rest of your meal, too. He spent exactly one night in a crate before he staked his claim in our human bed, where he continues to sleep curled around our heads like a cat every night.
It didn’t take long for me to fall in love. However, soon after adopting Jersey, I started to feel regularly overwhelmed by the fear of losing him. The anticipatory grief was heavy for me—it felt like a choke hold on my throat and a knife in my heart every time I thought about life after Jersey. The only thing that protected me was the belief that we had plenty of years ahead before I needed to worry about that.
But now it’s been “plenty” of years, and I realize that there will never be enough years with Jersey for me to consider it “plenty.” Yet something else has changed, too. Through my years of loving him, he has changed me. And now, though I still grieve when I think about the inevitability of losing him—in the mental health biz we refer to this as anticipatory grief— I also know that choosing to love him despite the certainty of loss is one of the most important choices I have ever made. It has changed my chemistry—the fundamental truth of who I am—and to honor him, I want to share these truths with you, too. For Jersey. And for every human who ever has been, or ever will be, lucky enough to love an old dog.
10 Lessons My Old Dog Taught Me
There’s no moment but this moment.
Jersey, like all dogs, exists exclusively inside of this moment. He does not long for the past; he does not fear for the future. He is here now. He experiences joy now. He tunes in to what’s in front of him now. He plays in the grass now. He cuddles with the people he loves now. He rests when he needs to now. He is fully alive now. (He also needs to potty now, so I better take care of that!)
2. A walk outside may not cure the ache, but it will help lessen it.
All doggos everywhere: “Feeling glum? Go for a walk. Feeling happy? Go for a walk.”
When I first adopted Jersey, he was “prescribed” for me as an emotional support animal after brain surgery. I was learning to walk again (cue the Foo Fighters’ song “Walk”) after a complex illness, and during those dark days Jersey would often lay on my chest while I rested. However, when he sensed that I was in a heavy mood—something dogs can often sense in humans—he would jump up and go sit by his leash near our front door, softly whimpering. At first, this behavior annoyed me, but over time I started to realize that he was offering me a gift: the gift of fresh air, sunshine, birds singing, friendly neighbors waving, and starting to reconnect with my body. Even now, I know that part of grieving Jersey’s inevitable loss will be continuing to take walks around my neighborhood, because though it is painful to think about doing it without him, I know that that’s how I’ll keep moving forward.
3. Love is bigger than loss.
Sometimes our biggest heartbreaks come from our biggest love. Though I know this will be true with Jersey, I also believe that it’s far, far better to love and lose than to not love at all. I will carry that lesson with me throughout the rest of my life.
4. More isn’t always better. Sometimes it’s just…more.
With humans, enough can quickly become excess, and excess can quickly become an endless thirst for “more, more, more!” With dogs, as with all things in nature, more is just…more.
5. Even the smallest things can have big feelings.
…and it’s okay to feel them!
6. The best things in life often find us.
What’s meant for us will find us. So maybe we can relax a bit.
When we were at the shelter years ago, I was completely set on adopting a bigger dog that they were calling “Twinkie,” a squat, bulky pit bull mix with the coloring of a husky. But then my partner called me over to another pen and said, “Hey, come look at this little guy.” And there he was: Jersey. At the time, he’d been given the temporary name “PacMan.” He was the only dog in the shelter who wasn’t barking. Tiny and with dark fur, he was easy to overlook. I remember there was a hole in his cot. Now that I know him so well, I know that he had probably dug that hole himself out of anxiety. I don’t know how we’d initially overlooked him in the shelter, but now, years later, I have realized that the things that are meant to find us just will.
7. Simple is just fine.
When we first got Jersey, I wanted him to have the best of everything. I can’t tell you how many fancy dog beds and blankets we purchased. But to this day, the thing he loves the most is a hand-me-down green blanket that I owned years before he came into my life. I have a feeling our next dog—whoever that may be—will love that old blanket, too.
8. Never lose your curiosity for life.
9. Perfection is a myth.
On those days when I don’t want to show my face to the world, Jersey loves me just as much as the days when I deem everything to be “perfect.” I love him just as much when he’s freshly groomed as I do when he’s covered in sand and his breath smells of trash. Perfection doesn’t exist. We are lovable exactly as we are.
10. Things are never so dire that we can’t stop and play.
There is always time for play! It shouldn’t be the exception; it should be the rule. Watching Jersey grow old while continuing to find new (often gentler) ways of playing reminds me that we are never too old for play. We just pretend that we are “too busy.”
And on that note, Jersey is reminding me that I’ve worked long enough for today, and it’s time for a walk!
So I’ll leave you with this question: when we get to the end of our own lives, do we want to look around and say, “Look at all of these late hours I worked! Look at all of this money I made! Look at all of this stuff I accumulated!” or do we want to look around and say, “These are the people and animals I love (and perhaps miss) deeply. These are the moments of joy I cherish. These are the memories I have of laughing so hard that I snorted. These are the places on this Earth that inspired me with their beauty. And these are the risks I took; some of them resulting in joy, some of them resulting in pain, but all of them worth it.”
Loving something you are certain to lose is a big risk, but it is a sure way to feel alive.
If you’re grieving the loss of a person or pet, creative practices like music therapy can be very helpful ways to explore and process your experiences and emotions. Reach out today to book a free initial consultation. We can work together in-person in San Francisco or Marin County, California or virtually through teletherapy nationwide. In addition, Feel Creative Wellness, LLC is proud to offer Legacy Beats by Feel, specialized end-of-life support for people and pets through heartbeat recordings, legacy songs, palliative care and hospice support. Check out those services here.
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