The Direction of Intention

Our Sweet Boy is getting older. A few night’s ago, for the first time, I watched him struggle to stand up; for a moment his back legs refused to cooperate. I felt a hot rush of panic, Kerri caught my eye to acknowledge that she saw it too. And then, in a miracle moment of instant transformation, he caught sight of Boris-the-cat next door and all signs of decrepitude vanished in his hot-dogga-dogga-rush to bark at the window. Crazy Boy was back.

He’s always had two distinct personalities: Crazy Boy in the daylight hours and Sweet Boy after the sunset. Each evening, Crazy Boy herds us to the living room. Once we are settled safely into the couch, the signal that his duties for the day are done, he collapses on the floor between the living room and dining room. When next he raises his head, Crazy Boy is gone. The spirit of Sweet Boy fills his furry being. Our now gentle dog checks in for a head-pet, and nestles in beneath our feet.

It’s the ratio that is pulling at my heart. Once, Crazy Boy dominated the hours of the day, wearing deep circle-paths in the backyard in his exuberant patrol. In the past year, there is a new more-equal balance of Sweet Boy and Crazy Boy hours. His ebullient patrol still wreaks havoc with the backyard flora and fauna, just not so often. He’s become more content to observe his vast territories from the cool of the deck rather than continually clear the yard of marauders. Now he sleeps more of the day away.

When we are away on errands he sleeps in the sunroom by the backdoor but is joyful and bouncing by the time we get the key in the lock. He is the world’s best welcoming committee. Yesterday, we were completely inside the house before he was aware that we were home. “Some watchdog!” we quipped. Once again he struggled to get up. Kerri knelt by his side, ruffling his ears, she said, “Don’t worry, Dogga, our joints hurt, too.”

We’ve joked that Dogga had a tough assignment with us. A hyper sensitive dog with two overly sensitive artists. He’s been part weather vane – I know when Kerri or I are about to storm because Dogga looks at us and heads to the bathroom, his quiet space. We’ve averted many-a-storm because Dogga turns and slinks toward his sanctuary. “It’s okay!” we call after him. Not wanting to upset the dog has taught us how to not upset each other.

“I guess we’re learning how to grow old together,” Kerri said.

And Dogga – as always – is showing us the way.

read Kerri’s blogpost about CRAZY SWEET BOY

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