Happiness Is a Choice

Ringo

My beloved pup, Ringo, crossed over the Rainbow Bridge a couple of weeks ago. It was quite unexpected. Even though he was 14, had arthritis in his hips, cataracts and couldn’t hear worth a darn, he was one happy healthy boy up until his final week. Then suddenly the aggressive cancer in his spleen (that I didn’t know about) overwhelmed his system and he was gone in a matter of days.

My remaining pup, Baer, who’s all of 7 going on 3 (one Energizer Bunny battery too many), is confused. What happened to his big brother? We were a pack of three, now it’s just “Mommy and me.” He trots his favorite toy, a stuffed dog, around the house, through the doggie door, back into the house, brings it to me. Takes it back outside. Buries it in the garden. Unburies it. Aargh. The boy does not know what to do with himself. I keep telling him, “Be patient, I’ll get you a new brother soon,” but words just aren’t cutting it.

As I sit there petting him, missing our Ringo, I am reminded that happiness is a choice. I can remain depressed, low-spirited and unhappy over Ringo’s passing or I can choose – yes, choose – to see what’s right with right now, and choose to be happy. Jumping up and down happy? No. But OK. Appreciating what is. That I can do.

So I look at Baer, and marvel at this wonderful doggy-companion the Universe has gifted me. I think about how much I appreciate his snuggling with me at night, how fun it is for him to wake me by laying his front paws on my chest and licking my face. What a goof ball he is when he runs rings around the living room sectional, as if on a track doing laps.

I remember good times with Ringo – how much he loved his car-rides, how he loved to roll over on his back and stretch out all 95 pounds of himself for a righteous tummy-scratch. How he would tussle with Baer in his younger years, without ever hurting him. How his version of what you do with a bunny-rabbit lost in the backyard is not to kill it, but to lick it all over, as if to return it clean and unharmed to its “pack.”

As hard as it is to lose a loved one – animal or human – as long as we are still alive, there is something to be happy about. Something to appreciate, something or someone to live for. We don’t help the departed by being miserable, nor does it make anything better for those still here. That we should mourn and grieve, yes, absolutely, but never to forget that appreciation, of what was and is, is what will pull us through and onward.

After all, what will Baer’s someday new brother want? A miserable, depressed family? Or a happy one, eager to welcome him into the fold . . .

Who Has More Fun, Us or Dogs?

We have a new neighbor on our hill. I met him the other day when I was taking my beloved old puppy - whose arthritis prevents him from getting a walk - out for his drive. My neighbor was walking his three pups down the hill, so of course as mutual dog lovers, we had to stop and have a conversation. One of my neighbor’s dogs only sported two legs; he had a wheeled contraption that took the place of his back legs. Another of his dogs rolled around gleefully in a doggy-perfected wheelchair with his three legs, and the last of his cuties had the more common four legs, of which three are of the regular kind, and a bionic titanium hind leg! Despite their differences, all three dogs were obviously happy, healthy, enthusiastic critters.

And my sweet 14 year old Ringo, despite his creaky hindquarters and sagging back, enjoys his car-rides enormously, muzzle straight into the wind like any self-respecting dog.

What a wonder our animal-friends are! They don’t complain about much of anything. Certainly, if an animal is mistreated or abused, they suffer, but under normal conditions, our furry-friends accept their condition and enjoy life as it is. Right then, right there. Even the small lizard that I’ve come to recognize because he has half his tail missing, plunks himself on my deck to enjoy the sun, tail or no tail.

What is it with us humans that we complain about the least little ache and pain? It doesn’t make the pain go away, actually, dwelling on pain usually makes it worse. Yet here we are, moaning and groaning while three legged dogs hop around happy.

I am reminded of six dogs that were rescued recently in North Carolina. Trapped in their cage, about to drown in the still-rising flood-waters, the dogs were set free by rescuers. The pups ran out of their cage through the water to dry land, wolfed down the food given them by their good Samaritans, and wagged their tails: “Now what?”

Unlike us, the dogs did not revisit their recent trauma, complain about their days without food, no doubt scared and cold, they simply – once rescued – resumed their doggy lives. Now granted, sometimes revisiting the past is helpful, even necessary, for us. Process the experience, sure. Look for a solution or resolution, absolutely. But what we don’t need to do is complain about it.

So I’ve decided to give myself a most unusual present this Holiday Season. I’m going to quit complaining. At least as often as I can catch myself doing it (there’s a challenge for you!). And I invite you to join me, if you like, in ditching the complaining.

After all, who seems to be having more fun, us or the dogs?!