Dog Lessons

Several years ago, my husband and I decided to fulfill our daughters’ long time wish of owning a dog. “They won’t take care of it,” my parents warned. “They’ll lose interest,” my friends predicted. I was having none of it. I had faith in my girls. They were older, responsible, and so very good with other people’s dogs.

After secretly scouring the internet and various shelters, I chose a friendly, mixed-breed female. On December 24th, I concocted a story about last-minute shopping and drove forty-five minutes to pick her up. I could barely contain my excitement. This was going to be the perfect Christmas. When I was almost home, I called the girls. “I need help carrying everything in,” I lied. “Meet me in the garage.”  When I opened the hatch, it was a scene from a Hallmark movie. They cried. They shrieked. They hugged. They jumped up and down. They adored her completely – for two days. By December 26^th, they had forgotten we had a dog, and Maizy became mine.

 Having conducted no research about breeds, I had apparently adopted a dog with an insatiable need for exercise. I added a four-mile 6:00 a.m. walk to my already busy morning, left work mid-day to squeeze in another walk, and gave up my favorite evening show to add on a few more miles. I committed to training classes and became a regular at the dog park. Nothing worked. She was relentless. I had to admit I was unequipped to handle her and after two months, made the decision to let her go.

The day I planned to return Maizy to her foster family, I met John, a retired pastor, on my early morning walk. Nearly in tears, I explained how my uninformed decision had ruined my life.

“I’m giving her back,” I admitted. “I can’t do it.”

“I felt the same way at first,” he responded.  “Give it more time. Let me introduce you to the people I walk with.”

 Since that day, I have walked dogs with John and five others four days a week. There is Lisa- a retired nurse who organizes women’s marches; Karen - a special education teacher who cares for her adult disabled son; Donna - a self-described hippy who shamelessly offers to share her pot with us; Katie – a professional body builder who is planning her wedding; and Bill – a retired fighter pilot who is dying of cancer. Others have floated in and out, but the seven of us have remained consistent.

We are an unlikely bunch. Ranging in age from 79 to 28, we span the spectrum of political affiliations, income levels, and spiritual practices. We’ve debated everything from the best Mexican restaurant to the plausibility of heaven. In a single conversation, we have discussed recipes, weather, the ethics of hunting, and the looming reality that Bill will most likely not be with us next year.

These are not people I would have chosen.  I’d have avoided Bill based on his political bumper stickers. I’d have noticed Donna was a little out there and walked by.  Aside from the dogs, it would seem we have nothing in common. Yet, we have discovered that when we keep showing up, we can find something in common with just about everyone.

Our organic social experiment has taught us people don’t fit neatly into the boxes in which we place them, and diverse opinions can be discussion starters instead of deal breakers. Despite our obvious differences, we have all known the joy and tragedy of being human.

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Ten years have passed, and what started as a resented chore has become one of my greatest pleasures. I think often of the way in which God used a dog I didn’t want to lead me to people I hadn’t considered. Although Maizy’s slower pace means we don’t accumulate the many miles of her younger years, we still start and finish our days together, walking side by side with unlikely friends.