We Don’t Deserve Dogs

We don’t deserve dogs. 

Regardless of what happens, dogs stay by our sides. They don’t care…

• If you blew it at work. 
• What others think about you.
• If you make a big mistake.
• How successful you are.

Dogs are thrilled when you walk in the door, even after being gone an hour. It doesn’t matter what the adventure is, they are honored to be your sidekick. They sit with you without getting bored. They don’t worry about the future or hold to past regrets—they live in a state of present awareness. Each moment is the most important moment. And what they want most of all is for you to be present with them.

Dogs are love embodied. 

Humans Are Not Dogs

Humans are different.

We use each other to climb to the top or get what we want—driven by our fears and insecurities. We are happy one minute, and deeply angry the next. Our minds get lost in future worries or intensely distracted by screens—we are rarely present in the moment. 

Humans don’t deserve dogs. We haven’t earned them, but here they are.

Dogs are a gift. 

The Gift of Hurley

I brought Hurley home when she was 8-weeks old.

She fit in a cardboard box. She was shaking in it as I drove my dad’s red truck. I had inherited the truck a year earlier, after he had passed away.

The first night we kept her in a crate but she kept crying and whining. Eventually, I laid on the ground and let her sleep on my chest. It’s cheesy, but I made up a little song to sing in her ear to calm her.

I can’t count the amount of laughs Hurley gave us. 

She was incredibly energetic. Sometimes, out of no where, she would give us this look, and proceed do a “boxer burn.” For non-boxer owners, a boxer burn is the equivalent of what a toddler does after eating brownies and ice cream. For about 2 minutes, they lose their minds. Hurley would sprint around the living room literally bouncing against the walls. 

It was hilarious and terrifying.

Not the Baby Anymore

Everywhere we went, Hurley came with us. She was the center of attention. But that didn’t last long.

We have a video of Hurley meeting our firstborn. As we brought our daughter home, we let Hurley sniff her, slightly concerned about how Hurley would act with a baby. We shouldn’t have been.

She was the best dog a kid could have. Over the last 8 years, she was no longer the center of attention. Other babies were held in the middle of the night and got all the special treats.

But she didn’t care. 

Humans would have sulked and moaned but Hurley accepted her new duty wholeheartedly. She let the kids pull her ears and step on her while sleeping. Anytime I tried to take her toys, she would fight me but if a kid pulled at them, she would gently let them have it. 

A few years ago, she started developing tumors. We began expecting the inevitable, but she defied all the odds. She continued to play and walk and eat and act like the girl we had always known.

But the last month, we knew something was different. She was losing weight and barely getting out of bed.

Hurley’s Last Day

On Monday of Thanksgiving week, she again rode beside me in the truck. Just like the first time. But this time, it was a different truck and she just lay there, tired. My gut told me this would be our last ride together. No more rides to camp sites or the beach or a hike. 

The vet told me the official news—it was time to say goodbye. Before Lori and the kids got there, I laid on the ground with her and sang the same song into her ear I had sung when she was a puppy.

The kids came to say their last goodbyes. The same kids Hurley smelled and kissed as infants. Now they were the ones to lean in and give one last hug and kiss. Our daughter bawled her eyes out. Our son stoically looked into Hurley’s eyes as he pet her. Our 3-year old son ran around creating chaos, but that’s just how he always is.

It was all so surreal. She was here one moment. Gone the next. 

11 years is a long time—some days feel like an eternity. But 11 years is a blink of an eye.

I Didn’t Deserve My Dad

I lost my dad when I was 26 years old. He was here one moment, gone the next.

Initially, I was overwhelmed with the thought, “I don’t deserve this.” It’s not fair to lose someone this great, this young. He would never meet his grandkids. We would never go fishing again. 

After the memorial, a family member talked to me. He and his brothers lost their dad when they were teenagers. He told me one day, I would be grateful I had even had an amazing dad at all. That I would appreciate the gift of his presence.

He was right. Another family member lost his dad in junior high. Some people have absent fathers. Others have abusive ones. Over time, I realized they didn’t deserve that either. 

It’s taken me a long time but now I realize what a gift it was to have my dad. For 26 years, I got the best dad in the world. I didn’t earn that. I didn’t deserve to have a dad like that.

He was a gift.

We Don’t Deserve This Life

Life is a gift.

This is the reality, right? We haven’t earned this life. I don’t know about you, but I didn’t will myself into existence. I didn’t create my consciousness. I didn’t cause my cells and synapses to fire.

I was given this life. 

GIVEN. 

A gift. 

I don’t deserve 

• My wife 
• My 3 kids
• My mom
• The Redwoods
• The way the sun warms my back
• Being able to witness a Cubs World Series
• Listening to Radiohead on vinyl
• The smell of freshly ground coffee
• Reading East of Eden

But usually, instead of seeing the gift of each moment I focus on what’s unfair, or wrong. I get caught up in the worries and frustrations.

Of course, this is the beauty of dogs. They are present in each moment. 

They don’t worry about the future, or contemplate the regrets of the past. Each squirrel, sun beam through the window, each piece of bacon, each chase—is the greatest moment in history. 

We don’t deserve dogs and we don’t deserve this life.

But they’ve been given to us. And we get to choose how we engage with them.

We can choose to take life for granted, ignoring our relationships and the blessings all around us.

We can choose to live in the future or past and miss the gift of this moment.

We can spend our lives numbing, entertaining, and wasting time.

OR

We can choose to remember the gift.

We can choose to soak in each moment and live fully in the present.

We can choose to remember each moment with a loved one (human or dog) could be the last.

And finally, we can choose to live a life of gratitude.

I sort of love Hurley passed away at the beginning of Thanksgiving week. For the rest of my life, it will be a reminder to be thankful for the things I don’t deserve.

After the kids left the room at the vet, Lori and I held hands and pet our puppy for the last time. Right before she passed, we looked into her tired eyes—the same eyes from the 8-week old puppy. We told her we love her and would miss her and that she was a good dog.

And then we said what you say after being given a gift you don’t deserve. “Thank you.”

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