An Invitation from Our Traumatized Dog to Be Kinder
One of our sacred roles, as humans, is to give voice to the voiceless.
Hello Beautiful Beings!
In our house, whenever we give even the slightest hint that we’re going outside, our dog goes into a frenzy of bliss. Biscuits gets excited, because she assumes we’re going to take her for a walk to use the bathroom. She loves it … 364 days a year. The Fourth of July, though, is a different story.
Fireworks, which Americans think of as an emblem of freedom, sound like the thunder of terror to her. This isn’t just true for Biscuits, but for many, many of our furry friends. And, it’s traumatic for a good chunk of our human family as well. I can barely imagine what it does to people with PTSD, certain forms of anxiety, and the like. But I can share the heartbreaking experience I had with Biscuits this Independence Day.
First, it’s important to admit: I enjoy fireworks as much as the next person. There’s something moving about collectively watching the sky painted with their colorful extravagance. While being pleasantly shocked by the sounds. That said, over the years, I’ve definitely noticed a substantial shift from fireworks being, by-and-large, a big event put on at a specific place and time by professionals, to something seemingly everyone does everywhere.
What does love invite us to do in this situation?
Why do we do so many people spend good chunks of money to buy and light off fireworks? I think of a classic Beavis and Butt-Head scene, during which, with rhythmic enthusiasm, Beavis chants: “Fire. Fire. Fire. Fire.” This bit of hilarity that’s stuck with me for decades, points to a primal part of humanity that likes to make fire and blow things up—or at least watch it. Do you know what I mean?
Only a few, intermittent fireworks had gone off on the Fourth when I took B-Dog out for her afternoon stroll. Yet, already, not only was she not excited to go outside, she kept trying to pull us back home the entire way. She knows our walking paths, and is typically the dog that walks their owner, if you know what I mean. So, this was already quite unusual.
“Hearing” her, I gave her enough of a chance to use the bathroom, before turning around early to head back home. When we came back that night, after a family and friends block party celebration, we weren’t greeted by the usual yapping that B welcomes everyone into the house with. What is more, while she always spends her indoor time in the living room and dining room, she’d nestled herself in the complete opposite side of the house, the bathroom. We’ve noticed this is her safe space, where she shelters when really scared or really sick.
Move toward suffering with a compassionate heart and kind mind.
“Biscuits,” I called from the door, “do you want to go out?” While typically, as soon as I say “Bis…” she’s scurrying on her way, on the night of the Fourth, she didn’t respond to multiple calls. So, I went to meet her in the bathroom, where she lay curled against the sink bottom. It didn’t take long to discern, no amount of encouragement was going to get her to move—let alone, go outside.
Bang! Bang! Bang! As fireworks sounded outside, I could see B shrink, cower, and curl up in terror. So, I laid down next to her, and settled into comforting our sweet terrier with my presence and touch for a good while. I could feel the stress and fear melt away from her. It was simultaneously heartbreaking and beautiful.
One of our sacred roles, as humans, is to give voice to the voiceless.
While Biscuits can’t “speak” for herself on this topic, I feel it’s my job to speak for her. One of my favorite t-shirts has “Be a Good Human” printed on the chest. A major part of being a good human, I believe, is to use whatever voice, power, influence, and/or platform we have, to stand-up and speak for those who can’t for themselves. Whether it’s creation—with all its animals, plants, and awesomeness—which literally can’t speak for itself, or people and people groups on the margins because of disability, race, economics, nationality, religion, sexuality, or ____, the point remains.
We are here to love ourselves and one another well. No more. No less.
Every year, to celebrate our anniversary weekend over Labor Day, Lisa and I go to all three Dave Matthews Band shows at the Gorge in Washington State. Each concert is completely different, the people are incredible, and we have the time of our life. Last year, during the encore, they had a bunch of drones do a light show. It was like fireworks, only better. It was incredible. I mention that because, I believe collectively we can do better than we currently are. Together we can understand and care more for our human and furry friends who suffer because of things like fireworks.
Part of the amazingness of humanity is how creative and innovative we can be. So, I wonder: How do you think we can keep up the celebratory spirit of “fireworks” in a way that’s kinder and more compassionate toward others?
Hugs & Love,
Lang (aka “Dr. Love”)
Thank you for challenging me to see this as an act of love. Love really does cause innovation and that’s easy to forget when we allow a scarcity mindset to take root.