I was not looking for a dog. During my adult life I have never had one. Nonetheless, Yoshi and I found each other. We immediately recognized ourselves as members of the same pack and started hanging out together. Spot was my last dog, over half a century ago—a good dog for a kid. What kind of dog might work for an introverted, sometimes-grumpy old man who does not like barking and overflowing creatures jumping on and licking him?
I am not a “dog person.” I am a “chicken man,” and sometimes the two don’t mix. One dog killed dozens of my chickens, and another bit me when as a boy. Now I’m a convert to loving and being loved by a dog.
Yoshi and I met at a large rural party near my Sebastopol farm. We saw each other; his human companion soon turned the leash over to me. We roamed together for hours, so full of delight. Yoshi is easy to follow. Meandering with a partner can be fun. He leads me to places, in the inner and outer worlds, where I would not otherwise go.
Yoshi is a shiba inu—a mid-size, cat-like Japanese dog. His regular companion is Kendra, whom I did not know, but we had heard of each other. Yoshi and Kendra tend to be more trusting than I. Right before meeting Yoshi I saw the recent movie “Hachi,” starring Richard Gere, about a similar, larger Japanese dog. That tender story of loyalty opened my heart to Yoshi.
Kendra mentioned going East for a week and inquired if I might care for Yoshi. “Sure,” I responded, the surprising words leaping from my mouth before I could think. Something other than merely myself guided me. On our first evening, I took Yoshi to Sebastopol’s Enmanji Temple for their annual Japanese Obon dance. “May I pet him,” kimono-dressed children politely asked. His double-coated fur is so thick and delightful; your fingers sink pleasurably into it. Yoshi radiates beauty with his fox-like appearance.
Yoshi provides me a dog’s view of the world, as my 2-and-a-half-year-old neighbor River provides me a child’s view. Elders often do what the literature on aging calls “life review.” Some of us then do things that we have never done or not done in a long time—like have a dog and relate to 2-year-olds. So I write about Yoshi from what Zen Buddhists call “beginner’s mind” and what depth psychologists call the “grandfather archetype.”
Yoshi moved in and I made him a bed on his big pillow on the floor. Later that first night he jumped into my bed. I was too sleepy to respond. Though I have never had a four-legged animal in my bed, I decided to let-it-be. Having him curled up at the bottom of the bed created a sense of security.
When I ask friends for advice about our developing relationship, “Shepherd with a dog!” is the surprise I hear in their voices, as they explain things that we might do together. Yoshi knows; he becomes this teacher’s teacher, as the 2-year-old boy has been my teacher. Walking Yoshi, I discover a new world. Dogs connect people; they build community. Our 20-minute walks can turn into an hour or more of seeing friends and meeting new people. Strangers talk to each other. I take a pen and pad when I walk Yoshi--a muse who stimulates my creative writing and an initiator into other realms.
Yoshi is noble, with a lionish color and quality. I walk proudly at his side. Though only 20 pounds, he radiates dignity. Yoshi has bearing that reaches far back before his six years in this life. Yoshi carries ancient wisdom from centuries before. He teaches me to play more. He likes it when I meet him on all fours, and I feel like a boy again as we romp. Sometimes Yoshi and I just sit and gaze at each other—a transmission—like happens with my two-year-old friend. What better thing for an elder to do than care for younger and smaller beings and learn from them?
“You can’t teach an old dog new tricks,” an old saw asserts. Actually, elderhood can be full of surprising new things, like Yoshi. I have taken chickens to my SSU classes as teaching assistants and Yoshi to campus. “People with pets are better people,” a friend says. Thhis may not be true, but I do feel as if I am becoming a better person through my relationship with Yoshi.
I did not look forward to returning Yoshi, but I committed myself to giving this treasure back. Being willing to detach and let go is an essential Buddhist teaching. Human beings have so much to learn from other animal beings. Yoshi has taught me the importance of adaptability and the impermanence of things.
My dog-sitting time is now over. What then? My brief life will soon be over. What then? Yoshi evoked reflection as he sat at my side—what some native people call side-bys—or lead us through the dense woodland near my farm.
Soon after Yoshi left I sat in a chair at an art reception. My eyes met those of a beautiful, large dog, who raised up on his hind legs and sat on my lap. I was dog-sitting again, literally, much to my delight, as well as the owner’s. She was able to get food and drink, while others came over to admire the dog. I am glad that some stores are dog-friendly, even when it might be a risk.
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