“There is an ecstasy that marks the summit of life, and beyond which life cannot rise. And such is the paradox of living, this ecstasy comes when one is most alive, and it comes as a complete forgetfulness that one is alive.
This ecstasy, this forgetfulness of living, comes to the artist, caught up and out of himself in a sheet of flame; it comes to the soldier, war-mad in a stricken field and refusing quarter; and it came to Buck, leading the pack, sounding the old wolf-cry, straining after the food that was alive and that fled swiftly before him through the moonlight.”
–Jack London, Call Of The Wild.
Call Of the Wild is my favorite dog book of all time, Buck’s life was full of much more drama than Zinnia’s, yet there is an ecstasy in the connection between people and dogs that marks the summit of the life and beyond which life cannot rise.
I’ve been blessed to experience this ecstasy with Rose, and then Red, and now Zinnia. I’ve loved all of my dogs, but some are just different than others, and so is our connection with them.
Zinnia is nothing like Buck, the heroic wolf-dog of London’s brilliant imagination. Yet we have become soulmates, partners. She is always by the side and seems to know what I want before I do.
But she is not what she seems. She is happy and easy, but she is, I am finding, much smarter than I thought. With me, she is nearly telepathic.
Her recovery from being spayed took about 30 minutes. Zinnia is a sweet dog and very strong; she is all Lab, always ready to love, eat, and stay close.
She and I are fused, and we are slowly resuming her therapy dog work; she has such a gift for it.
Zinnia has paid no attention to her stitches and seems to have no knowledge or awareness of them. Most of the day, she doesn’t even need the inflatable color I rushed out to buy. I put it on her at night, when she goes in the crate.
The wound looks great, tight and clean and dry.
In a few days, she’ll be back upstairs, sleeping alongside the bed. Labs are bred to be companion dogs, we don’t have Buck’s heroics here at the farm, but the spirit of loyalty and devotion are the same.
I took her out for a short leash walk today; I believe this is the very first time Zinnia has walked on a leash in her two years on the earth.
She was puzzled at first and then figured it out, as she does by watching me closely and sensing what I want. This is not something I could teach, the dog has to feel it.
I couldn’t help noticing how empty of traffic our busy road is; I thought a photo of her sitting out on the yellow line would speak of obedience and trust. I hoped I was out of sight of Maria in her studio, she would not be happy with this photo.
I walked out into the road, asked Zinnia to sit, and she did right away. I made sure there was no traffic (I can see a long way) and took out my Iphone. She didn’t move a muscle, and I backed up a good way for the shot. When I was done, I said “okay,” and we both walked back to the side of the road together.
It was no big deal for her.
The photo said a lot; it placed her in a completely different context, she seems to know exactly what I want, and she trusts me to ask it of her, and I trust her to do it. For me, dogs are all about trust, love too.
You have to think a bit when you first see the image, and I like that affected.
Parts of Zinnia’ss nature and eagerness to serve goes back into the womb of Time.
It wasn’t ferocity that marked the life of Buck. And his human. It was love and trust.
Trust is what it’s all about. I adopted a stray Lab mix two weeks ago: Jack. He’s about year old, was someone’s pet as he is housetrained, knows basic commands, is neutered and heartworm free. (No chip, no tags, owner could not be found). He’s a big boy – 50+ pounds. I started immediately creating that bond of trust. I train him per the Jon Katz method – positively, continually, in sessions so brief he doesn’t realize they’re “sessions”. He’s tried some things I won’t tolerate: . trying to climb on me while I’m working, eating. I give him a shove, say “DOWN!” in a low voice, ignore him for a while. Then I get the bag of cut-up hot dogs and we do a few minutes of training: he loves that! He has lots of chew toys and bones, dog beds, good food, affection, time with me, long walks. Today, I took him to a big area enclosed by hedges, took off his leash. He took off like a cheetah, racing around the perimeter, leaping in the air, doing backflips. When he slowed down, I called him: “Jack, COME!” He ran to me, sat, and looked up at me. I said “Good dog!”, gave him a hot dog piece, a head pat: no big deal, just the way it’s supposed to be. PS: You’re lucky Maria didn’t see you pose Zinnia in the middle of the highway, but you know that.
Jon, if you get a chance, read Gary Paulsen’s My Life in Dog Years. It labeled a young adult book, but I think you would enjoy it.
What a grand dog she is, and what a lovely relationship you have with her. It’s a joy to know a dog like that.