This week, I've been visiting an old friend on vacation, who has a lovely little black and white Havanese. In Toronto - a city run by dogs, who lead their owners around on leashes until they deliver the coup de grace and watch in delight as a fully grown human with plastic covered hands picks up their excrement - it became clearer and clearer what dogs do for us. A dog doesn't fret and stew and hold grudges. A dog doesn't sit up nights wondering if the market will come back. A dog just wants to love and be loved, to eat now and then, to run around, and once in a while to urinate on a park bench so its friends will know it was there. In short: a dog knows how to live.
And so, here in Toronto, it became clear to me what the dogs do for us. They are our teachers and guides. We learn from them to eat, to walk, to enjoy the smells and tastes and warm comforts of daily life, and to make friends and leave a little of ourselves after, so that others will know we lived well.
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