This has been a good day to have a mental health practitioner around.
Not just because of the unfathomable way yesterday's Apple Cup ended, or because my occasional forray into writing about local hockey took a suddenly tragic turn when one of the young players, a 17-year-old from Rosetown, Saskatchewan, collapsed while sitting on the bench and was taken, unconscious, to a local hospital -- where he's recovering nicely. No, some days you just need to have your mental health practioner around.
Mine has a deceptively simple approach to his craft. He reminds me to take care of the simple things in life. To find enjoyment from my everyday pleasures, and allow them to provide the grounding, the foundation, that allows me to reach for the stars.
Not that he explains it so succinctly. In fact, he doesn't explain it at all.
You see, his name is Dexter, and he's a cocker spaniel.
Dexter, a particularly sensitive animal, has a simple outlook on life: There is nothing in the world so awful that it cannot be improved by petting the dog.
And you know what? He's right.
Today was a good day to pet the dog. It makes me feel better, and it doesn't bother Dexter. In fact, he likes it. He frequently interrupts his nap so that I can find mental peace. But then again, dogs are frequently selfless in this regard. And Dexter is always willing to sacrifice his naptime on the off-chance that someone might need a psychological pick-me-up.
Dexter is quite the dog, actually. He's light sensitive and doesn't like to see sunlight reflected off shiny objects, or candles, or fireplaces. And he has a condition that is rather like intense migraine headaches -- or cluster headaches. They can be intense and have caused some nerve damage in his face. First the skin on one side drooped, giving him a silly, downhill look to him until it atrophied into kind of a smiling appearance. Then the same happened on the other side. These two episodes also have damaged his hearing -- although to what extent is difficult to measure. He's always had convenient hearing. He still can hear the cupboard door open where the dog cookies are kept, which is a good indication he can hear when he wants to. And when he can't, he takes is cue from Sally, my other cocker spaniel -- who's mostly interested in where her next meal is and where the most comfortable spot for a nap might be.
In case you're wondering, I didn't give either dog their name. I'm not big on buying or raising purebred pets. It matters not at all to me whether my four-legged companions have a pedigree. I don't have one, why should they? Dexter and Sally, who look like brother and sister but are, in fact, not related at all except for their devotion to milk bones, were left homeless when their previous owner lost her home because her live-in boyfriend pocketed her house payment money. The dogs needed a home, and I had room in my life for a dog, or two, after my divorce -- since my ex took custody of our two dogs. Since both dogs had perfected their ability to ignore someone calling them by name, I decided they could keep their names. Besides, I tend to call them by, ironically, pet names. Since Sally has a mischievous charm, I call her Punky most of the time; Dexter is, for reasons you might guess, Buddy. They quickly learned how to ignore those names, too.
I keep very close tabs on Dexter. He's a sweet animal who wouldn't hurt a fly and doesn't bark to save his life. That occasionally means putting aside the newspaper, or setting down the laptop when he wants to be a bit of a lap dog. Hearing him moan happily while he takes up a lap and a half is worth the time.
Making sure he's happy and healthy is something I make a very high priority. Love is like that.
And it's a good thing to remember. When we take care of the people we love, we're taking care of ourselves.
More soon.
Not just because of the unfathomable way yesterday's Apple Cup ended, or because my occasional forray into writing about local hockey took a suddenly tragic turn when one of the young players, a 17-year-old from Rosetown, Saskatchewan, collapsed while sitting on the bench and was taken, unconscious, to a local hospital -- where he's recovering nicely. No, some days you just need to have your mental health practioner around.
Mine has a deceptively simple approach to his craft. He reminds me to take care of the simple things in life. To find enjoyment from my everyday pleasures, and allow them to provide the grounding, the foundation, that allows me to reach for the stars.
Not that he explains it so succinctly. In fact, he doesn't explain it at all.
You see, his name is Dexter, and he's a cocker spaniel.
Dexter, a particularly sensitive animal, has a simple outlook on life: There is nothing in the world so awful that it cannot be improved by petting the dog.
And you know what? He's right.
Today was a good day to pet the dog. It makes me feel better, and it doesn't bother Dexter. In fact, he likes it. He frequently interrupts his nap so that I can find mental peace. But then again, dogs are frequently selfless in this regard. And Dexter is always willing to sacrifice his naptime on the off-chance that someone might need a psychological pick-me-up.
Dexter is quite the dog, actually. He's light sensitive and doesn't like to see sunlight reflected off shiny objects, or candles, or fireplaces. And he has a condition that is rather like intense migraine headaches -- or cluster headaches. They can be intense and have caused some nerve damage in his face. First the skin on one side drooped, giving him a silly, downhill look to him until it atrophied into kind of a smiling appearance. Then the same happened on the other side. These two episodes also have damaged his hearing -- although to what extent is difficult to measure. He's always had convenient hearing. He still can hear the cupboard door open where the dog cookies are kept, which is a good indication he can hear when he wants to. And when he can't, he takes is cue from Sally, my other cocker spaniel -- who's mostly interested in where her next meal is and where the most comfortable spot for a nap might be.
In case you're wondering, I didn't give either dog their name. I'm not big on buying or raising purebred pets. It matters not at all to me whether my four-legged companions have a pedigree. I don't have one, why should they? Dexter and Sally, who look like brother and sister but are, in fact, not related at all except for their devotion to milk bones, were left homeless when their previous owner lost her home because her live-in boyfriend pocketed her house payment money. The dogs needed a home, and I had room in my life for a dog, or two, after my divorce -- since my ex took custody of our two dogs. Since both dogs had perfected their ability to ignore someone calling them by name, I decided they could keep their names. Besides, I tend to call them by, ironically, pet names. Since Sally has a mischievous charm, I call her Punky most of the time; Dexter is, for reasons you might guess, Buddy. They quickly learned how to ignore those names, too.
I keep very close tabs on Dexter. He's a sweet animal who wouldn't hurt a fly and doesn't bark to save his life. That occasionally means putting aside the newspaper, or setting down the laptop when he wants to be a bit of a lap dog. Hearing him moan happily while he takes up a lap and a half is worth the time.
Making sure he's happy and healthy is something I make a very high priority. Love is like that.
And it's a good thing to remember. When we take care of the people we love, we're taking care of ourselves.
More soon.
posted by wurdsmith at
3:52 PM
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