Life Lessons From My Dog: Never Forget the Importance of Play Time

Have you ever heard the old adage "All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy"? It is the mantra of my perky Pomeranian, Peanut Pumpkin Pie, except her version is a bit more personal and goes something like "All work and no play makes my mommy a dull girl."

I never truly appreciated the statement or its deeper meaning until Peanut became a part of my life almost 10 years ago....back when I was in the throws of college, trying my darnedest to become an engineer. I certainly didn't grasp its importance to a little fluff ball that was small enough (at the time) to fit into the palm of my hand.

I had always done well in school and rose to whatever challenges were laid at my feet, so when I was offered the opportunity to return to school and get my degree, I chose the most challenging curriculum I could find. Big mistake. It is not that I floundered when faced with the rigors of a top engineering program; it was quite the opposite really. It is just that 9 classes a semester proved a daunting load, and I quickly redefined the concept of what "dull" really meant. I became the poster child for the word and lost my sense of joy in the process.

Peanut was 6 weeks old when she came home with me over Christmas vacation. She was my gift to myself. She was an old soul, even as a baby. It is what people said of me when I was her equivalent age. She was quiet....watchful....ever mindful of the world around her. She did not scamper with her brothers and sisters or pull my shoe laces like countless other little ones had done that I had looked at and walked away from. She did not wander off disinterested by the boring stranger who came to visit her on a whim. She just sat on the hard, concrete floor, watching me.

It was as if Peanut was trying to decide something about me; trying to determine what she would do next; trying to determine if I was worthy of her efforts. She was 4 weeks old when we first met, and yet there was something so infinitely wise about her. I knew that first day I could never love another dog the way I loved her. I knew it when she walked over and asked me to pick her up. I knew it when she looked deeply into my eyes and put her nose to mine. I knew from that first spark of understanding that kindled a passionate love between us that my heart belonged to her, and I would do her bidding for the rest of her life.

Over that Christmas break we bonded. We played and scampered the way new mommies and their fur babies do. We laughed more than I had laughed in some time. She helped me heal from the pain of loss of my Snoopycat some three months before. It was a magical time. I didn't want it to come to an end. But reality came crashing back upon me, and I knew I would soon be leaving for school once more with little Peanut in tow.

Near the end of that break when the restart of the semester was fast approaching, my dad told me a secret to lasting happiness with Peanut. It was a secret I would never forget. Peanut and I were cuddling; all smiles and messy hair and fluffy fur. It was early morning, and we were avoiding the responsibilities of the day. Peanut and I would be packing up our things and heading back toward campus together. I wasn't looking forward to leaving, but in my heart I knew it would be different than it had been before. This time I would not be alone in my little home away from home. I relished the idea of having my new little love with me, especially with as hard as the first part of the semester had been.

The truth is, sometimes our daydreams don't always fall in line with our reality. I felt gushy holding Peanut in my arms in the safety of my real home, far away from the stresses of school, but my father knew me. He knew I was hard-working, focused, driven to do well. He knew how stressed I had been when I had come home and how very near the breaking point I had come. It wasn't enough for me to have a distraction to take my mind off of my school work. I now had a commitment to Peanut, and the choices I made as a result of that commitment would determine how our relationship would develop from that day forward.

His words were simple. "You know honey, Peanut will spent the rest of her life waiting for you. Every ounce of love and devotion she has will be yours from now until the day she dies. It will never waver. It will never end. The least you can do is try to give her your best in return." The secret sounded simple, but it wasn't until I was in the midst of the worst series of exams that I got the meaning of it all.

I arrived back at my apartment after a grueling 4 hour exam. I had less than two hours to eat, rest, and prepare for my next exam which was threatening to be worse than the one I had just left. I was frazzled to a bare, bloody nub. Peanut sensed my stress the moment I walked through the door. Her old soul told her I needed her. We went for a potty walk, but that was all I "had time for". Peanut, in her miniature, infinite wisdom, knew better. Playtime was always the best medicine. She brought me a toy from her corner of the bed. It was her favorite toy. Her giant elephonky. The one that was three times as big as she was. She dragged it over to me and began to gut it with great enthusiasm, right on top of my textbook.

My nerves were raw. Couldn't she see I was busy? Couldn't she see I was stressed? I was too stressed for her games, so I set her on the floor with her toy and gave her a chewy stick. Certainly that was enough.

Then I saw it. The secret my father shared with me slipping away from me as two shiny black eyes stared at me over the edge of the bed. Two wise little eyes that had only wanted to help make things better for me. Two hurt little eyes that didn't understand why I had rejected her. Now it was my turn as I watched little Peanut....to make a decision about which path I would take. Peanut had chosen me when she was no more than an infant; now here was my chance to choose her with all my adult years to guide me.

I closed my textbook, laid it aside, and slid to the floor with my little furry miracle. Peanut and I played for a long time together. We ate lunch on the floor, nibbling from the same plate. We cuddled for some time, and I studied with what time was left over; while Peanut slaughtered an assortment of over-sized stuffed animals against my thigh. It was a great afternoon; the best of that semester. I can't remember how I did on the exam that day. The truth is, it doesn't matter. My greatest lesson and hence my greatest gift was found in the eyes of my wise little girl.

Peanut and I have weathered some pretty hefty storms together. Some worth mentioning; some not. One thing I will say is this. I made the right choice that day. I continue to make that choice every day I have with Peanut, and I listen to the silent wisdom that comes from her shiny black eyes. I am long since out of school, but there are still times when I work from home, whether slaving away at my day job or crafting away at my novels. Regardless of which avenue I am pursuing, Peanut is always there to remind me it is time to take a break and play. I have yet to turn her down. I have yet to say no. The giant elephonky is still her favorite toy of choice.

I guess you might say, with Peanut, life is never dull, but then again, I chose to never let it be so from the day she walked into my life. I let her love be my comfort, and I have yet to regret that decision. May the same be said of all the relationships in my life that matter - that I never fail to put them first in my heart or life and that I never forget to make room in my day for "play time" with the ones I love the most.

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A Tribute To My Jessie Bess ~ When You Have To Say Goodbye To a Best Friend

The past few days have very hard for me....'impossible' might be a better word. It is not because of the election or Hurricane Sandy or any of the thousands of other issues being reported in the news. I just had to say goodbye to a dear friend on Monday, November the 5th....actually I said goodbye to a best friend. His name is, or was, Jessie Bess. At least that is what I called him in my moments of affection. He was an Australian Shepherd mix who graced the lives of me and my family for 13 years. He was a silly, funny, gentle giant of a dog that we rescued when he was 6 months old or so. He was only supposed to be 40 pounds; at least that is what the vet said. He was saved from the side of the road with 6 other siblings when he was 3 months old, and we were assured he was going to stay the size he was. When Jessie Bess hit 85 pounds, we knew something big had gotten into the proverbial woodshed, but we didn't care. By that time, Jessie Bess had already won his way into our hearts.



Jessie Bess was my dad's dog, but like with any angel that is sent into your life, the magic he wielded ensorceled us all. He was so silly and fun. He bit his nails like a nervous teenager, spitting the tips out on the floor once he had managed to coax them free. He spit like a farmer, and you could hear it from across the room. Sometimes, he would toss a back leg over his back and chew his back nails that way. It was sure to bring a bubble of laughter from anyone who saw his silly ways. I think sometimes he did it just to make us laugh. He was just that kind of dog.

Jessie Bess had a hard beginning, and we had many issues which had to be worked through. The first part of his puppy hood was traumatic, and my dad worked tirelessly with Jessie to help the 'good dog' in him come out.  Jessie was scared of everything at first. I can only imagine what he went through before we met him. I tried not to go there because the thought of his suffering was more than I could bear at the time. I simply found myself thanking God that we had Jessie, especially with every triumph in his training and every obstacle he overcame.

 



Jessie Bess was very gentle, we found out and would play with his 'big brother' Happydog (a miniature dachshund) in such a way where Happydog would always be safe. Happydog took playing very seriously, and so often, Jessie Bess would let Happydog win at whatever game they played. It didn't matter to Jessie. He just loved the play and loved his 'big brother'. Jessie was just that kind of dog. When I got my little girl Peanut Pumpkin Pie, a tiny Pomeranian puppy that had captured my heart, Jessie was just as gentle and loving with her. They shared the dog beds and play time, and Jessie endured patiently any puppy tendencies that Peanut had related to him. Frantic lick attacks. Barks in the face. Feverish game of puppy tug of war. It didn't matter to Jessie. He took it all in good strides. Peanut loved him so much and he her!

Peanut grew up with Jessie and over the 8 years they spent together, Jessie became her protector and ours. He saved my mom and Happydog from being attacked by a neighbor's dog. He kept diligent watch when our area was overrun by coyotes looking for a meal. He was our strong boy when we were outside, and he was always on guard when we laid down at night, sleeping wherever he thought was the best vantage point. He was as faithful as it gets. For all his fierce protectiveness, though, Jessie's sweet heart saw himself as a little dog who wanted nothing more than to crawl up in our laps and cuddle when all was well.

 



Jessie Bess loved to play, he loved his 'pack', and he loved his family. He was the best dog in the world. It felt like he would be with us forever. Where my books were concerned, I had it all planned out. Jessie Bess was going to make his debut in book 4 of The Chronicles of Mister Marmee. He was a perfect choice for the storyline. I never thought I would be writing his story after he was gone. I never really saw his age until the very end, when his body began to fail him, and my family and I found ourselves facing what no one ever wants to face...the loss of a best friend.

How do you say goodbye to a best friend? How do you come to terms with the reality that you will never, on this earth, see them again? We tried everything as poor Jessie Bess fought the ravages of age. We bought expensive medicines and tried supplements, bargaining for more time. We steadied his hips as he walked up and down the stairs to go outside. We cleaned up his accidents in the house when he started losing the ability to 'hold it', and we justified those times as being related to the medicine we were giving him. There came a point however when we realized that life had lost its joy for Jessie Bess. He could barely make it up the stairs, and there were times when he would simply collapse. He didn't understand what was happening to him, and we couldn't make things better no matter how hard we tried. Jessie Bess became lost and confused, and we knew he was reaching a point where he wouldn't remember who we were anymore.

It was so hard to see that in his eyes and to know we had ran out of time and things to bargain with. It was the second worst day of my father's life, the day he realized it was time to free Jessie from the darkness while Jessie still knew who my dad was. The worst day of my dad's life was the day he said his final goodbye to his best friend Jessie. I would have given anything to spare my father that pain. My dad was doing the best he could for his faithful little boy, ensuring in his last hour that Jessie Bess was not alone. And now being on the other side of that final act of kindness, mercy and love, we all are suffering from shattered hearts trying to fill the hole where Jessie Bess used to be. It feels like the most unbearable grief, and I wonder to myself whether it will ever ease. I have wondered why it has to hurt so much to say goodbye.

Then I realized it hurts because it is supposed to hurt. I lost a part of myself when I said goodbye to Jessie Bess for the last time. Jessie had become integrated into the very fiber of being, and to lose him was like having a part of me ripped out. Jessie loved me for me, with no strings attached and no demands. He didn't know any other way to be. Jessie's love for me - in spite of all of my faults and imperfections - was a reflection of the kind of love God has for me. Selfless. Unconditional. Pure. Perfect. The pain of Jessie Bess' loss reminds me I am still close to God's heart. The pain I feel means I loved Jessie to the best of my human ability with the right kind of love. I responded to the God-spark in Jessie and embraced it with both hands. Without my passionate love for Jessie, there would be no pain in losing him. So maybe, just maybe, I have a spark of God within me, too.....some remnant of the time in the Garden when things were as God intended....before we got in there and messed it up.

Was it not God who took time to enjoy the beauty of all that He created? Was it not God who saved 8 people and THOUSANDS of animals during the flood? Was it not God who made a covenant with man AND beast after the flood waters receded? Is it not God who knows the name of every sparrow that falls to earth? That kind of love....God's love....is immense, and it was God's love of his animals....His creation....that was first instilled within Adam in the Garden of Eden. Did God not bring each animal to Adam for him to name them? Why would God have asked for such a personal touch on Adam's part if He had not intended there to be a more intimate relationship between Adam and the animals under his care?

 



Perhaps I am over-simplifying things or perhaps I am giving myself way too much credit for the love I had for one faithful, loving dog, but I believe my sweet Jessie Bess has his reward now for living and loving so selflessly. And perhaps, just perhaps, God will deem me worthy enough one day to see my sweet love again in heaven. I think the key lies in living by Jessie Bess' example - loving those around me without condition. After all, I spent 13 years observing a master of the art, and I am better for that time with Jessie Bess in the end, pain and all. I love you Jessie Bess. Run free and far in God's Garden. Just please don't forget me while you are there. I will never forget you!