Over the weekend, Wes and Megan, this awesome young couple I have become friends with in my apartment complex, have been away as Wes performs with his band up in Seattle. They asked me to take care of Owen their Bulldog who always huffs and puffs as he rambles by my unit on his way to his walk. Even though I know Wes is walking him because Megan is at work, I always call out a greeting to Owen, trying to cheer up the lumbering pooch before he confronts the crucible of the stairs. Although he's only seven years old (42 in human years so we're just about the same age), Owen has seen better days. He gets winded pretty easily, and his eyes are fogging over with a muck that needs to be rinsed out with drops on a daily basis. Sweet and positive, Owen often seems to have a better attitude than me.
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| Owen Looking For A Little Love This Evening After Dinner |
As I have been hanging out with Owen over the past couple of days, I have been finding myself strangely identifying with him and his plight. Mind you, I am imagining his plight because he has a loving family that takes care of him and he seems perfectly happy. Nevertheless, whenever I hear Owen huffing and puffing and when I recall that we practically are the same age in human years, I imagine him suffering through his travails and challenges like I am suffering through mine.
Like Owen, I am far from the idyllic land of puppyhood and the dreams of puppy love. Like Owen, I start huffing and puffing after walking a few blocks because of all the prescription drugs and medications in my body. When the prescription antihistamines join forces with the Interferon and Ribavirin, I end up being wiped out of normative existence as my body is reduced to the shell of an old man. Like Owen, everyone wants to slap me on the butt and pat me on the head, but nobody wants to kiss this old ragged bulldog and discover the intimacy of my slobber. No, I am alone and there is no easy answer.
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| The Stoic Nature of Owen the Bulldog, Unfazed by a Changing World |
I am not quite as stoic as Owen the Bulldog. Although he is loving and sweet, Owen remains unfazed and unaffected by the vicissitudes of a changing world. He knows in his heart that mom and dad, Wes and Megan, are coming home soon and the food bowl will be filled tomorrow. There is not much more than that to worry about. In contrast, I worry about everything, and I am haunted by the failures and regrets of the past and the amorphousness and fears of the future.
My old sponsor used to tell that if you want to reduce the Alcoholics Anonymous program down to a single concept, it's about faith and fear on a momentary basis. Which do you side with in celebration or in conflict? If you side with your fears, your character defects come out as a blaze of defense mechanisms. If you side with your faith, you can walk through just about anything. When I say Own is stoic, I guess what I really mean is that he is a pooch of faith who does not bother with the fears. He has the basic faith of believing that everything is going to be okay. Where has that faith gone in my life? Why have I lost touch with the ability to believe in myself and the prospects of this life?
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