Empathy List Archives

CP

Christopher Plum

Tue, Jul 5, 2022 8:12 PM

Opinion Why I will never live without a dog again
By Michael Gerson
July 4, 2022

Everyone must take a summer break from the relentless negativity of the
news, which unfortunately reflects the relentless negativity of reality. So
let me introduce you to Jack.

Jack is a puppy I picked up last week, eight months after the death of my
much-loved Havanese, Latte. As soon as I brought Jack home — a powder puff
of black and white, curvetting in the grass, all fluff and playful fury — I
was reminded of the quandary and question that greets dog owners: Why do we
take new dogs into our lives, knowing we will be decimated by their deaths?

Sign up for a weekly roundup of thought-provoking ideas and debates
I grieved hard for my Latte, who was the dog equivalent of St. Francis of
Assisi — a little hairy mammal (Latte, not Francis) who radiated universal
benevolence. She was a consoling, healing presence during the worst of my
struggles against depression and cancer. In a very real sense, Latte was a
better person than I am — a daily practitioner of the hardest parts of the
Sermon on the Mount. She was meek, merciful (except to those godless
squirrels), peaceable and pure of heart. At her departure, I was the one
who mourned.

I can still feel the ache at night. Not long ago, my wife told me I had
been crying in my sleep. I don’t usually recall my dreams. But in this case
I remembered dreaming about the last time I saw Latte, after she was taken
out of my arms to be euthanized at the veterinary hospital. She lifted her
head and looked back me with her large, sad eyes. And then one of the most
steadfast, lavish, uncomplicated sources of affection in my life was gone.
(Even now I can hardly write the words.) She died, aptly, of an enlarged
heart.

The 18th-century evangelist John Wesley gave a sermon, “The General
Deliverance,” on the survival of animals in the afterlife — a very English
line of theological argument. (Many Brits regard the Westminster Kennel
Club Dog Show as a preview of heaven.) The Creator, said Wesley, “saw, with
unspeakable pleasure, the order, the beauty, the harmony, of all the
creatures.” Wesley believed that during the end-time renewal of the world
(a basic Christian doctrine), the “whole brute creation will then,
undoubtedly, be restored, not only to the vigour, strength and swiftness
which they had at their creation, but to a far higher degree of each than
they ever enjoyed.”

For most of my life, I lived in dogless ignorance and would have mocked
such sentiments. (It is so typical of Homo sapiens to regard heaven as
their own exclusive club.) I now hope that cross-species friendships of
such intensity do not end in permanent partings. Everything truly good in
life must leave some eternal imprint. Or pawprint. When I am not crying in
my sleep, I now feel such gratitude for an animal willing to comfort
another animal during some of the most trying days of his life. All without
expectation of reward — except the occasional dried pig’s ear.

In human relationships, the transforming presence of love is worth the
inevitability of grief. Can dogs really love? Science might deny that the
species possesses such complex emotions. But I know dogs can act in a
loving fashion and provide love’s consolations. Which is all we really know
about what hairless apes can manage in the love department as well.

So I — who once saw dogs as dirty and dangerous — am resolved to never live
without one again. This led to the gift from my kind wife of Jack, the
Havanese fuzz ball. After my dreary brushes with mortality, I needed new
life in my life. And Jack is the bouncy incarnation of innocent joy. Waking
up on the day of his arrival was like Christmas when I was 9.

On brief acquaintance, Jack is the best dog in the universe. During his
first night with us, he slept for eight hours in the crate in our bedroom.
There were a few bleats of homesick protest, but they were quickly stilled
by my voice, by his knowing I was near. Why would a puppy just torn from
his home, his litter and his parents place immediate faith in us? This is
one thing that makes the abuse of such animals so monstrous. It is not only
the expression of the human capacity for sick cruelty; it is the violation
of a trust so generously given.

There is an obstacle in training Havanese dogs. When you try to instill
discipline, they employ a thermonuclear cuteness that melts all intentions
of firmness. But what other object can you bring into your home that makes
you smile every time you see it? Jack is a living, yipping, randomly peeing
antidepressant. He improves the mental health of all who encounter him.

Why do we take in new dogs? Because their joy for living renews our own

--
Chris Plum
28 MacIntosh Lane
Wappingers Falls, NY 12590
845-632-1652

Opinion Why I will never live without a dog again By Michael Gerson July 4, 2022 Everyone must take a summer break from the relentless negativity of the news, which unfortunately reflects the relentless negativity of reality. So let me introduce you to Jack. Jack is a puppy I picked up last week, eight months after the death of my much-loved Havanese, Latte. As soon as I brought Jack home — a powder puff of black and white, curvetting in the grass, all fluff and playful fury — I was reminded of the quandary and question that greets dog owners: Why do we take new dogs into our lives, knowing we will be decimated by their deaths? Sign up for a weekly roundup of thought-provoking ideas and debates I grieved hard for my Latte, who was the dog equivalent of St. Francis of Assisi — a little hairy mammal (Latte, not Francis) who radiated universal benevolence. She was a consoling, healing presence during the worst of my struggles against depression and cancer. In a very real sense, Latte was a better person than I am — a daily practitioner of the hardest parts of the Sermon on the Mount. She was meek, merciful (except to those godless squirrels), peaceable and pure of heart. At her departure, I was the one who mourned. I can still feel the ache at night. Not long ago, my wife told me I had been crying in my sleep. I don’t usually recall my dreams. But in this case I remembered dreaming about the last time I saw Latte, after she was taken out of my arms to be euthanized at the veterinary hospital. She lifted her head and looked back me with her large, sad eyes. And then one of the most steadfast, lavish, uncomplicated sources of affection in my life was gone. (Even now I can hardly write the words.) She died, aptly, of an enlarged heart. The 18th-century evangelist John Wesley gave a sermon, “The General Deliverance,” on the survival of animals in the afterlife — a very English line of theological argument. (Many Brits regard the Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show as a preview of heaven.) The Creator, said Wesley, “saw, with unspeakable pleasure, the order, the beauty, the harmony, of all the creatures.” Wesley believed that during the end-time renewal of the world (a basic Christian doctrine), the “whole brute creation will then, undoubtedly, be restored, not only to the vigour, strength and swiftness which they had at their creation, but to a far higher degree of each than they ever enjoyed.” For most of my life, I lived in dogless ignorance and would have mocked such sentiments. (It is so typical of Homo sapiens to regard heaven as their own exclusive club.) I now hope that cross-species friendships of such intensity do not end in permanent partings. Everything truly good in life must leave some eternal imprint. Or pawprint. When I am not crying in my sleep, I now feel such gratitude for an animal willing to comfort another animal during some of the most trying days of his life. All without expectation of reward — except the occasional dried pig’s ear. In human relationships, the transforming presence of love is worth the inevitability of grief. Can dogs really love? Science might deny that the species possesses such complex emotions. But I know dogs can act in a loving fashion and provide love’s consolations. Which is all we really know about what hairless apes can manage in the love department as well. So I — who once saw dogs as dirty and dangerous — am resolved to never live without one again. This led to the gift from my kind wife of Jack, the Havanese fuzz ball. After my dreary brushes with mortality, I needed new life in my life. And Jack is the bouncy incarnation of innocent joy. Waking up on the day of his arrival was like Christmas when I was 9. On brief acquaintance, Jack is the best dog in the universe. During his first night with us, he slept for eight hours in the crate in our bedroom. There were a few bleats of homesick protest, but they were quickly stilled by my voice, by his knowing I was near. Why would a puppy just torn from his home, his litter and his parents place immediate faith in us? This is one thing that makes the abuse of such animals so monstrous. It is not only the expression of the human capacity for sick cruelty; it is the violation of a trust so generously given. There is an obstacle in training Havanese dogs. When you try to instill discipline, they employ a thermonuclear cuteness that melts all intentions of firmness. But what other object can you bring into your home that makes you smile every time you see it? Jack is a living, yipping, randomly peeing antidepressant. He improves the mental health of all who encounter him. Why do we take in new dogs? Because their joy for living renews our own -- Chris Plum 28 MacIntosh Lane Wappingers Falls, NY 12590 845-632-1652

DF

Dawn Fretts

Wed, Jul 6, 2022 1:26 AM

Thanks for sharing that, Chris. It's hard when we lose one of our
companions.

Here's another that I remember from a few years ago:

From Will, markingourterritory.com:
https://l.facebook.com/l.php?u=http%3A%2F%2Fmarkingourterritory.com%2F%3Ffbclid%3DIwAR1s3fKJtEYHMkCI4VsIfQussRM7VP28Jl7Rlr4botJPVMQlk2X1hT-XJg8&h=AT2dhjmzdQ5IK3cde_eafD4CcALd7cKq3qkUeWh5vuDIHcNyVmtN6Hi3kjEn6XJ6UZNaeeMeatul-9IgyKyeEM7c71xGKqrrVZT2p1CVwFsCfzpb8OhTGwIEX103UI5pIK8G&__tn__=-UK-R&c[0]=AT2FVG5O8tHmcAK5QumZpZO-u6gaM6VuTvs-CjR8MjDK1F_iJCkWsAJnkeDcA67eb1PMWB9T3GLM8BxkdhVpd9wIps9Kz8U37ZukSe-ANy8Zur-_I1bsWL2dYd5iqIRBKWfa
To love a dog is a hopeless thing.
There’s no happy ending. No riding into the sunset. No magic, no heroics.
Your heart will be broken. Millions share the anguish of losing a dog, yet
we struggle to communicate what that loss means.
Were the moon to vanish one day, the earth would still be whole. It would
look the same yet be irrevocably changed. It would lose the rhythm of its
tides. It would be missing the scarred guardian which swept aside incoming
harm. It would wobble unevenly through space without the constant and
steadying presence of its orbiting companion.
So too are we who lose our dogs. Listlessly tilting, alone, and lost
amongst the stars.
Still. Still! We embrace dogs in our arms and our hearts. Despite knowing
full well this is the answer to that pernicious question, “What’s the worst
that could happen?”
The true power of dogs is that they steal the suspense. They free us from
the fear which causes us to shy away from so many of life’s most worthy
pursuits.They free us from the insidious hope there will always be more
time with the ones we love.
The worst will happen – it inevitably does. But dogs insist that we make
the fates chase us down to exact their price. So that at the end of the
journey, when the worst thing does happen, we find the agony a price well
worth paying for one of the greatest adventures of our lives.

Dawn

On Tue, 5 Jul 2022 at 14:12, Christopher Plum christopher.n.plum@gmail.com
wrote: