Crumbs in My Pocketby Mike Smith
I realized one day that I had crossed a line when I reached into my pockets
to get some change and all I could find were dog treats. This wasn’t
something that happened all of a sudden. I had been noticing dog treats in
my pockets in the strangest of places: grocery stores, restaurants, the
movie theatre. I had even put dog treats into one of those plastic bins at
the airport in order to get through the security line. At first it seemed, well,
rather weird. But as time went on it became more and more normal. You
see, there were training opportunities popping up all the time for my dog
and me. I would be taking my dog for a walk and she would sit when we
stopped at the street curb. Time for a treat. I would walk into the house
and my dog stopped jumping and licking and actually composed herself.
Jackpot. She picked the newspaper up in the morning and brought it into
the house. Payola time. We would start an impromptu obedience training
session. I didn’t want to get caught short. On and on and on. You get the
picture. I simply got into the habit of continuously reloading my supply of
This wasn’t without its complications. When I took my pants off at night I
sometimes spilled treats onto the floor. My dog enjoyed this but my spouse
did not. New house rules were imposed concerning the proper method for
emptying the crumbs in my pockets before committing my pants to the
washing machine. Like my dog, it took me a while before I was sufficiently
trained. My training did not necessarily involve positive reinforcement!
In any event, I have reached the point where I always have dog treats in
my pockets. With those dog treats come crumbs. So it goes. There are
now literally three times when my pockets are empty. When I go through
airport security. When I go into the ring. And when my pants go into the
wash. Actually, now that I think about it, when I go through airport security
and into the ring there are still crumbs in my pockets. Please don’t tell
Homeland Security or the trial judges. And every once in a while there may
still be crumbs in my pocket when they go into the wash. Please, please,
please don’t tell my spouse!
June 17 2019
Play. Few things in life are more joyful than play. When it comes to play,
children rule. They play effortlessly and wholeheartedly. They play
sincerely. They play more frequently and more creatively than we adults
could ever manage. As we mature and assume responsibility for our lives,
we seem to lose touch with that child’s aptitude for play. We seem to forget
about the true meaning and value of play. At least, that’s what happened to
me. Until my dog came along.
My dog knows how to play. All it takes is a look, a move, an available stick,
sock, towel or leaf, and she’s ready to play. When she was a puppy, I
thought that her invitations to play were cute. I would indulge her for a while
and then get back to whatever I was in the middle of doing. After all, she
was a puppy. This was just a phase that she was going through and she
would soon grow out of it, right? Wrong. As she grew older and her play
drive continued, I learned to put her play to good use as a training tool. I
would train, get desired behavior, reward with a little play and then go right
back to training. This was all well and good, but I was still missing the point.
Over time, however, my dog patiently but persistently showed me the way.
She helped me rediscover what play meant to me when I was just a pup
myself and discover how to keep play near to my heart for the rest of my
life. As I became an adult, I had pushed play into the background of my life.
I never want to do that again.
When I play with my dog, I feel pure joy. I do not concern myself with the
past or the future. I am not making judgments. I am not thinking things
through. I am simply in motion, acting and reacting in a spontaneous,
almost instinctual manner. I feel a remarkable connection with my playmate
and a remarkable connection with my own inner self. I feel at peace with
the universe. And I’m pretty sure that my dog feels the same way.
My Father was part of what Tom Brokaw called The Greatest Generation.
He went off to fight World War 2 before he turned 20. He trained for the DDay
invasion, was wounded in battle, recovered and returned to the front
lines. After the War, he went to college on the GI Bill, got a job, fell in love,
married and raised a family. During my youth, I regarded him as being very
clean cut and very corny. He had these sayings that I also regarded as
corny. Those sayings are now seared into my soul.
One of my Father’s sayings was that you get out of life what you put into it.
At the time, the saying didn’t mean much to me. Now, I am awed by its
wisdom. To me, the saying adds meaning to almost every aspect of my life.
And that most certainly includes the relationship that my wife and I have
with our dog. Yes, we get out of our dog what we put into her.
Looking back, we realize that we have put a whole heaping lot into our dog.
All of the walks, the tugging, the fetching, the chasing. All of the long sits
and longer downs, the healing and staying and recalling. All of the lead
outs. All of the jumps and the weaves and the contacts. All of the training
and trialling. All of the feeding and grooming. All of the treats and the toys.
All of the praising and ignoring and waiting. And sometimes the frustration.
All of the spending. All of the time spent basking in the simple fact of her
company. All of the joy. All of the worry. All of the love.
All in all, we have put a whole heaping lot into our dog. We do not regret
any of it. We have received a whole heaping lot in return.
When I was in college I took a lot of philosophy courses so I went through
the whole existentialism thing. Soren Kierkegaard, Jean-Paul Sartre, Franz
Kafka, Albert Camus. Life is absurd. It has no intrinsic meaning. Then I met
my future wife, we courted and married and life made sense again. But
more than 40 years later, when I am out at night and look at the stars, when
I think about the current teachings of astronomy, when I focus on the
endless universal expanse, I get those existential feelings all over again.
Then my dog comes up to me, nudges me with her nose, and all is well. My
dog does not think that life is absurd. My dog has no regard for intrinsic
meaning. She is content with the immediacy of my presence. If I throw in a
kind word, a scratch behind the ear, a treat or a tennis ball, all the better.
These things give meaning to her life. These things, and the people and the
dogs that she knows, and squirrels and cats and weave poles and tug toys
and frisbees and walks and smells and plastic bottles and car rides and all
the rest. My dog does not suffer from existential crises, or worry about the
future or her place in the universe. She stays grounded and focused on her
immediate surroundings. I am soothed by the immediacy of her presence.
I have great respect for the people who put their dogs to work as therapy
dogs. The time and effort that they devote to their communities make the
world a better place in simple yet profound ways. Dogs have the ability to
bestow joy and comfort on we human beings and therapy dogs bring those
pleasures to people who need them the most. I wish that my dog had the
temperament towards strangers that is required for a therapy dog, but I am
wary. I hope that as she grows older and more mature we will be able to go
down that wonderful path together. In the meantime, as selfish as it is, I
have come to realize that even if she is never able to earn a therapy dog
certification, my dog is a therapy dog. She provides therapy to me..
I know the secret to happiness. Well, maybe not THE secret to happiness.
After all, life is complex and there are many possible paths to take. But I
certainly know one secret to happiness. Simply put, the secret is to do
things for others. I believe that most humans are wired to derive a deepseated
sense of satisfaction out of doing things for others. In other words,
We humans are a very self-centered species, so when I refer to “others”, it
is quite natural to think of other humans. In fact, “others” includes animals.
Why do our dogs make us so happy? Just think of all the things that we do
for them. “Others” even includes plants. Just ask any avid gardener.
Fortunately for us, we almost always have opportunities to do things for
others. Could it be possible that the more of these opportunities we take,
the happier we are? We do need to take care of ourselves also, so there is
a balance that must be struck, but . . ., well . . ., maybe?
One of the ways that I find happiness these days is by being as active as
possible in BHAD. We really are a wonderful community of very diverse
people with a common interest and a bunch of amazing dogs. Our
activities are a lot of fun but they also require a lot of effort. One thing that I
know for certain is that at the end of a BHAD trial, on Sunday afternoon,
when everything is put away, no matter how many Q’s or NQ’s my dog and
I gathered up, I always, always feel happy.
There are dogs that go to the agility trial start line full of focus and purpose.
Dogs that fly through the course without distraction, closely following body
signals and verbal commands. My dog is not that dog. My dog enters the
ring and loses her focus. My dog is the one who likes to visit the judge and
the ring crew. She perches at the top of the A frame to check out the view.
Sometimes she decides to go up to a jump and push the bar down with her
nose. She has been known to jump the ring fencing. From time to time she
likes to stop in the ring, flop over and roll on her back for a good rub.
What my dog lacks in Q’s and titles, she has made up for with the lessons
that she has taught me. She has taught me something about humility. She
has taught me to keep things in perspective. She has taught me that
success comes in many different guises and that joy can be found in many
different places. So here’s to the imperfect dog. They can take you places
and teach you things that the more perfect dog cannot. I’m sure that there
are many valuable lessons to be learned from dogs that have better
success in the ring and I hope that one day my dog will teach me those
lessons as well. But until then, I’m grateful for the lessons of the imperfect
I was watching someone try to outrun their dog at a dog walk recently and
thought of Kelli Paswater. Kelli had short legs, fast dogs, and a whole lot of
determination. Sometimes, when the course challenge was right and the
spirit was upon her, her legs would be churning at remarkable speeds.
Thinking of Kelli unleashed a stream of thoughts. The amazingly large
number of people who came together for her funeral service on a January
afternoon. The heartfelt stories of how deeply Kelli touched so many lives.
The things that Kelli’s sister told me about Kelli’s connection to agility. The
fact that I would have never known Kelli without my own connection to
agility. The joy and sorrow and precarious nature of life. How we should
never waste an opportunity to express our gratitude. How we should never
waste an opportunity to be kind. How we should appreciate and respect
the uniqueness that resides in each of us. How time works to weather
smooth the rough and raw edges. Yes, thinking of Kelli unleashed a stream
of thoughts. Kelli Paswater’s legacy is deep and abiding.