I have a confession. Over the last five years or so, I have not logged much time in a zendo. For a student of Zen, this is a travesty and probably even a reason to not call myself a student of Zen, in a formal sense. Perhaps I can make withdrawals from the Dharma savings account built up over the 20 years before that—the hundreds of morning and evening sessions of zazen, days of mindfulness, zazenkais, sesshins, and practice discussions with beloved teachers? It does seem to count for something.
But I must be honest, I’ve been absent from traditional Zen forms in these recent years. And I miss them.
These past five years have been full of activities that precluded time in the meditation hall, most notably a heroic effort to move my elderly mom and dad into a safer living situation, and then of course was the pandemic, which effectively shut down in-person practice for a long time. But the other factor that has made it challenging to show up in a traditional meditation schedule is serving as a single parent for Lucy, the pup who has been in my life since 2009.
For many of those years, there were others who could help share the load with Lucy. But over the past few years I’ve been mostly solo with her. Friends pitch in now and then to help, and once in a while I’m lucky enough to find a petsitter who can stay with her for longer periods of time. Earlier in my life I had cats, and had no problem leaving them on their own over a weekend. Just fill up the food and water bowls and their litter box, and I knew they’d be self-sufficient. I’d come home and they’d give me a side eye—that look of “where have you been?” But they were fine. With a dog, it’s another matter. As I’ve discovered, dogs take a pretty significant amount of attention and responsibility, and you can’t just leave them to take care of themselves for more than a day.
So Lucy and I have shared a lot of time together over these past years. I’ve taken the same mindset that I cultivated over years of Zen practice into my relationship with her and discovered that she makes a pretty darn effective Zen master. Here are some of the transmissions I’ve received from her:
Be present
Lucy lives in the moment, probably something all animals do with much greater facility than you or I. Perhaps it can be chalked up to our more complex cerebral cortex, which allows us the gift of an analytical thought process but can also wreak all kinds of havoc as we get lost in what-if scenarios, comparisons, and the classic duhkha moves of grasping at pleasurable things that will inevitably fade away and avoiding unpleasant situations that are right in front of us.
Interestingly, though, Lucy does have some ways in which she anticipates what is to come. That’s most apparent when she picks up cues from me that a walk is about to happen, then she has an energy of excitement. If the walk is delayed, however, her disappointment is palpable. But even in that, she’s fully present to her disappointment and it rises and falls pretty quickly. I doubt that she’s creating stories in her mind about my awfulness in delaying her walk or how unfortunate she is to be stuck with me.
No baggage. That’s the true benefit of being present. We free up a lot of energy to simply be with what is.
Enjoy life
Every walk is special. Even if we have taken the same route a million times, Lucy always finds a reason to feel excited about it—smells that weren’t there the last time around, people and dogs to greet, and whatever else her radar picks up. It’s a great reminder to not take anything for granted and to meet every experience as if it were the first time ever—because actually it is.
I am reminded of one of Shunryu Suzuki Roshi’s most famous teachings: “In the beginner’s mind there are many possibilities, but in the expert’s mind there are few.”
Oh, and life is more fun this way, too!
Be fully in a schedule
Routines and rituals are important. The time of our morning walk varies with the changing of the seasons, but I can always count on a morning walk with Lucy, whether or not I feel like it. And she wouldn’t have it any other way. Rain or shine, snow or wind, I throw on some clothes and shoes, put on her harness, and we head outside. There is no time or opportunity for me to think, “I’d rather not go out this morning.” Just do it. It’s not all that different from placing my tush on the cushion for the first sit of the morning in the zendo.
Let go
Lucy is now an elder. Her actual age is a bit of a mystery since she came into my life as a rescue dog. But she was pregnant when a friend found her, so the guess is she was at least a year old at that point. That was 15 years ago.
The past couple of years have been rougher for Lucy, health-wise. Recent examinations have turned up some concerning numbers for her liver and kidneys, so we’ve made some dietary changes that have seemed to help. In March, we were attacked by a dog in our neighborhood and it was a pretty bad situation. For a time, I really thought that was how I was going to lose her. But Lucy is amazingly strong and resilient and has healed well from that trauma. Even so, I notice more signs of her aging. There are some days when the sparkle is missing from her eyes and it’s hard to get her excited about a walk—something that she never failed to perk up for in the past.
And then she turns yet another corner, waking up the next morning with her old vim and vigor back again. I swear she has at least nine lives, just like a cat. And I can practice taking joy in her good days without becoming overly attached to how long they will continue.
I find myself preparing for life without Lucy.
I know that death will come sooner rather than later, and just hope it is a peaceful and relatively pain-free one. It’s hard to imagine what life will be like without this sweet being by my side, but I understand the assignment: letting go will be the practice.
Related features from BDG
On Loving and Losing Our Pets
Our Pets, Our Teachers
Committed to the End – Caring for Sick and Elderly Pets
Childhood Pets, Animals, and Kindness
The Divine Love of the Buddha
Meditation Over a Kitten: Transcendence from Where We Are
