Lessons from Dogs: Teddy the Teacup Poodle

I was on the front porch of a family’s home before a family assessment interview. Before I knock, I always pray that the Lord will help the interview go smoothly, since I have never met this family but will end up asking them intensely personal questions about everything: events experienced in their childhoods, details of their current monthly expenses, their beliefs on discipline of children, and much more.

Immediately after I pressed the doorbell, I heard the high-pitched yap yapping of a small dog from inside. As the homeowner showed me in, our greetings were interrupted with “No Teddy! No, no, no!” and other reproofs that were lost on Teddy, the teacup poodle. (And he had a pert little red bow in his groomed topknot. Something is just wrong with a male dog wearing a bow, even if he is a teacup poodle.)

He continued to bark and complain about my entrance. As I sat at Homeowner’s kitchen table, set up my laptop, and began the interview, Teddy busied himself about my feet. I looked down to see him gnawing on the strap of my canvas laptop bag. Sure, his teeth were teensy, but I figured they could do some damage, so I hauled the bag onto my lap. I typed more of Homeowner’s answers into my computer, and Teddy began chewing on my leather bootlace. An expensive lace on a nice, expensive suede boot.

I did not want to bring out my Alpha-Dog Self, to swell my chest (ha, if only. . . ), glare, bare my teeth, and hiss at the dog. Indeed, that usually makes both man and beast back off. I had barely met this woman, and my next questions were about events of abuse in her childhood, so instead, I gently pushed Teddy away with the toe of my boot and dutifully went on typing her responses to my questions.

Teddy was undaunted. Once I said, “Now Teddy, you can’t have my shoelace!” hoping Homeowner would remove Teddy to another location, but she didn’t. She reprimanded him strongly, but he was oblivious to her remarks. He continued in his determined attempt to chew my bootlace to a rawhide pulp. While she was responding emotionally about why her first marriage had failed and what she learned from it, I put my laptop bag down on top of my feet, between my suede boots and his sharp tiny teeth. He began to work on the canvas strap again.

Whew, expensive suede boots saved. I hurried through the interview as quickly as possible.

As I reflect on Teddy, I learn a Lesson from Dogs.

Gnawing on people’s stuff is annoying. Teddy’s behavior distracted me. I could not fully engage in Homeowner’s responses because of the insistent troubling of a small thing underneath the table, at my feet. Grrr, thank you, Teddy; I, too, sometimes “gnaw on people’s stuff,” their imperfections, their flaws, the smaller aspects of who they really are. I see what a royal pain I am when I persistently bite, nip, trouble, and bother someone about a small thing. I need to let it go.

Gnawing on people’s stuff can do damage. Fairly insignificant, my bootlace and laptop bag strap. Teddy’s little teeth left only tiny marks. But given enough time and persistence, I think eventually my expensive boot could have become a valueless dog toy. I, too, can diminish the value of my relationships by adding another, and another, and another nick or mar.

Gnawing on people’s stuff makes you less loveable. Teddy was a cute little boy, and with different behavior I might have taken him onto my lap and we could have enjoyed each other. As it was, I carefully chose what I carried and what I wore the next time we met; I was prepared to avoid him.

Oh, so sad.

Oh Please Let Me Not Be Frumpy

I have always been insecure about my fashion sense. In my early teens, I went retro; and since I sewed most of my clothing, I used my mother’s dress patterns from the 1950’s. (Man, that seems like a long time ago.) As part of the hippie generation in my later teens, I wore what everyone else did: work shirts and jeans, or corduroy bell-bottoms with thick leather belts. (Except for one little regrettable period of double-knit pantsuits.)

In my early forties, I worried that I didn’t look up-to-date, and took my youngest son shopping with me. I’d select an item off the rack and hold it up against me. “No, Mom, no.” he’d say, shaking his head. I know, I know; it’s pathetic that I trusted the fashion sense of an eleven-year-old boy over my own. After he left home, I actually learned a lot from Stacy London and Clinton Kelly on TLC’s “What Not to Wear.”

I have a long habit of shopping sales, thrift stores, and resale. I do not spend an inordinate amount of time worrying about what I wear or the image I present. But I do pay attention, for my outer image may give others an impression of my inner person.

So at this stage in my life, I’ve decided to have one main style guideline: Not Frumpy.

What is frumpy? The word came from Middle English “frumple” and Dutch “to wrinkle,” and evolved to mean plain, dull, ill fitting, out of date, and colorless.

I may categorize some articles of my clothing as “casual,” “neutral,” or even “modest,” but these words should not be a disguise for clothing that is “frumpled” or that makes me feel frumpy. It does not seem very nice to God to wear an exterior that is plain, dull, ill fitting, out of date, and colorless.

I want my style to reflect the vibrancy, timelessness, and thoughtfulness of the God I know. And while each and every item of clothing I own may not have a “wow” factor of itself, I want it to at least be complementary to the dynamic image of the God that lives in me.

So please, if you see me pulling something frumplish off the rack, do me a favor. Touch me lightly on the shoulder, shake your head gently and say, “No, Doris, no.” I’ll get the message.

Photo by Marco-Antonio-Fdez http://www.photoxpress.com/search-free-photos-author/marco-antonio-fdez

A New Citizenship

Paul’s letter to the Philippians is called his most personal epistle, containing several expressions of Paul’s attachment and fondness to the Christians at Philippi. At the end of chapter 1, Paul confides in his readers that he has a conflict between two wonderful options: to depart from the earth and live with Christ, or to remain on the earth, knowing the Philippians would be full of joy if Paul would be able to see them again.

If I were Paul writing verse 27 to my children, it might read like this: But whatever happens, whether I get to come and see you or not, you act right. Remember who you are, and whose you are.

I wrote similar notes to my own children when I sent them off to summer camp or family vacations with friends. I think this is precisely how Paul felt as he urged the Philippians, “Let your conversation be as it becometh the gospel of Christ.” (KJV) Other versions read “Let your manner of life. . . ” or “Conduct yourselves. . .” But the meaning is deeper still. Paul’s particular use of “conversation” more accurately means “your walk as citizens.”

What? I can almost feel myself losing you. Perhaps you are like me, and the word citizenship generally evokes an instant shoulder-slumping boredom that hearkens back to a verbatim round-Robin reading of the government textbook, paragraph by paragraph, in second semester eighth grade. Oh I hope you had a better government teacher than I had.

For Paul to allude to their citizenship does not seem remotely personal. His use of the word citizenship might read like the legal terms in a contract the Scribes recited in the gates of the city. It meant that "one should order one's life and conduct in a certain manner as to the habits and principles of the citizenship of a state or city.”

But the Philippians knew that Paul was not instructing them about their local citizenship. He was joyfully reminding them that their citizenship was not confined to the Roman colony at Philippi, but that they were citizens of an entirely new and “better country,” a radical worldview, and an eternal ethos -- of the gospel of Jesus Christ.

When my children read their notes from mom on their way to summer camp, they probably felt some sense of “family.” We belonged to each other, with all our family habits and principles. I believe the Philippians may have been stirred by that same sense of belonging when they read Paul’s words, rejoicing in who they were, and Whose they were.

Moments in Marriage: How to Treat Me (Let Me Teach You)

I heard it just before I engaged the DVD for the granddaughters. Dr. Phil was sitting opposite an attractive, well dressed, 30-something married couple. “You know we teach people how to treat us, right?” he asked.

I didn’t watch any more of the program -- the granddaughters were waiting for the princess movie -- but the question echoed in my mind all afternoon.

If I don’t like how my spouse is treating me, I might ask myself, “How have I been teaching him to treat me this way?” And the next question might be, “How can I change this lesson plan!?"

A good teacher targets a skill or desired behavior, and then plans for the student to achieve success in that targeted goal through example, instruction, practice, and cooperative effort, with either intrinsic or extrinsic rewards.

Sometimes in our marriages, it’s painfully obvious that the behavior we’re getting is not the desired behavior. At those times, we should ask ourselves, “How do I want this to turn out?” “How do I wish it could be different?”

Once we know what the goal is, we have to take action to reach it -- and that means to communicate about it.

When conflict occurs in our marriage, we have options. We can confront the conflict and get to the bottom of the problem, we can communicate, we can appeal; we can assert ourselves.

Or not.

A few years ago I read that the manner in which you communicate with your spouse “crystallizes” within the first year of marriage. Therefore, couples should work hard to establish patterns of effective communication early on, for these habits will most likely continue throughout the marriage.

Many of us never progress past patterns of communication we learned in our first dating experiences in junior high or high school. But think about it. Middle- and high schoolers don’t generally have effective or well-developed skills for communicating through conflict. Usually there is a lot of drama involved, with banging objects down on tables, slamming doors, or raising voices. In my case, the drama was internalized with resentment, anger, and disdain.

Some retreat to “violence” and others, to silence: both are ineffective and ultimately destructive in any relationship. Neither one is a mature methodology for resolving conflict or increasing our marital happiness. Only communication, uncomfortable though it may sometimes be, will effectively teach your spouse how to treat you.

Nursing Home for Dogs: The Power of Touch

Buster Brown is still snoring on his pillow. But Buster Black is up and watching me. It is only seven steps from the kitchen to the laundry room, but he follows me closely while I put something away. He is right on my heels as I return and stand in front of the kitchen window. He sits squarely on my foot; his back and hip nestle close to my leg. I am loath to move because he seems so comfortable and warm, but after only a brief moment I must step away. It’s time to cut the meat and vegetables for a stew that will simmer all day.

As I peel potatoes and slice carrots, Buster Black has positioned himself between my feet. My preparations take me from one counter to the other in our kitchen, but he follows me that small distance, just a few feet, to lean in close to me again. I offer him a tidbit of browned, cooled stew meat, which he sniffs and eats, and then looks steadily at me.

I realize I’m about to humanize a dog with my next sentence, but I can’t help it. When he finishes the treat, his eyes say, “Thanks, but I didn’t really want that. I wanted you.”

My heart melts. “Buddy, are you lonely today?” I reach down and snuggle on him, then I sit on the sofa and invite him onto my lap. He’s actually a little too big for my lap, but we manage to get comfortable. As I pet him and enjoy his warmth, I think about Lessons from Dogs.

There is no substitute for a gentle touch. I can provide food, shelter, and medical care for Buster Black. I can give him a treat once in a while. But today what he wanted most was my warmth, my attentive touch. The Touch Research Institute, part of the University of Miami School of Medicine since 1992, has done numerous studies on the necessity of touch for physical and emotional health and healing. Research shows that while someone’s presence may be helpful, mere presence does not lower stress hormone levels or stimulate production of endorphins. Touch, however, does.

Take time for touching. Young children think it’s natural to climb into our laps when they are afraid, when they awaken from a night’s sleep, when they are insecure, and when they are happy or excited. The settling down and folding in close together makes them feel protected and nurtured. I’ve read that children should receive eight to ten “meaningful touches” per day in order to feel secure and loved. I think I have never personally grown out of that need, though! Perhaps it applies to adults (and dogs) as well.

It is finally time for me to get back to the kitchen and finish the stew. I disturb our coziness and help Buster Black to the floor. I know I’m humanizing him again, but I think his eyes say, “Thanks. I needed that.”

Ten Thousand Hours

Malcolm Gladwell, in his book Outliers, suggests that it takes ten thousand hours of practicing something -- purposefully and single-mindedly with the intent to get better -- before you can “hit your stride” and achieve true mastery. Ten thousand hours!

Man. That means, when I was sixteen years old and wanted to follow in the folk-singing footsteps of Judy Collins and Joan Baez, I should have been practicing upwards of twenty hours a week after I got out of school at 3:30 each afternoon. Let me tell you, I was way more into my boyfriend coming over every afternoon to “help me” with my Algebra II homework.

Gladwell references a long-term study done by K. Anders Ericsson and two colleagues in the 1990s. One of the conclusions of that research is that practicing isn’t something you do once you’re good, it’s the thing that makes you good. But he goes on to write that to be a “world class expert” in any field, it takes more than passion, talent, and hard work. He presents another variable of success: seizing unusual or extraordinary opportunities.

I am reminded of part of a sermon preached by my former pastor, Dr. Dave Hardy. “Preparation,” he said, holding out his right hand to illustrate, “is our part. It is our responsibility to do the work. But this,” and here he held out his left hand, “is God’s part. God provides the opportunity.” He then brought his hands together and clasped them victoriously. “When our preparation and God’s opportunities come together, that’s success!”

What is it that I am preparing for? What have I spent ten thousand hours doing, or what am I doing now -- purposefully and single-mindedly with the intent to get better -- that is getting even close to ten thousand hours? Our measure of success may be somewhat different from the examples in Gladwell's Outlier's; but it is still important to ask ourselves, "What does my use of time say about my goals?"

Am I alert to the unusual or extraordinary opportunities God provides? Years ago when my dad would lead me through the woods of the hunting lease, he’d say excitedly, “Look at those quail!” or “Did you see that deer?” I usually hadn’t seen them. Why? Because I was not looking for anything -- I was just walking rather mindlessly behind him. “You’ve got to look fast or you’ll miss something!” he taught me.

Will I seize new opportunities that God brings? God caused a bush to burn without being consumed. Moses saw it, but he also had to “turn aside” in order to hear God through it. He acted on the opportunity.

I definitely want to do my part, because I’m quite certain that God is designing numerous opportunities for me. After all, His thoughts toward me are for good, with a future and a hope.

Eating Out of the Pantry

If you opened my pantry door, you might immediately think, “Yum!” but on closer inspection you’d furrow your brow, shake your head, and wonder what secret issues lurk inside me that created this overage of supplies. “Why does she have four bottles of balsamic vinegar? Was there some kind of sale on Lipton’s Onion Soup Mix?” You’d glance sideways at me to see if I was showing any other signs of obsessive-compulsive behavior. “Was she afraid the store was going to run out of Rotel tomatoes?”

A few years ago, I faithfully planned meals and menus, shopped from a list, and ate what I bought. But a hectic job and extensive traveling derailed me, and I fell into bad habits of spontaneous meal planning and impulse shopping. When I am at the grocery store, I don’t know what my inventory is at home. I walk down the baking aisle and wonder if I have any white corn syrup because I might make a pecan pie with the pecans I bought at Sam’s . . . oh wait, did we already eat those pecans? Better buy some more of those, too. Do I need chicken bouillon? I think I used the last of it, oh, I don’t know when, I’d better get some just in case.

Consequently I just buy everything I could possibly need for anything that could possibly sound good to cook up or to cook with.

My refrigerator and freezer are in the same sad, bulging shape.

I have decided that we should eat the food we already own, so I am not buying groceries this month. Well, except for some necessities (like milk and lettuce) and a small recurring list: coffee creamer, fruit snacks, cilantro, shallots, and French onion dip. The coffee creamer is a staple. The supply of fruit snacks must be frequently replenished because of hungry granddaughters. The cilantro and shallots, well, I am a little OCD about these two perishables. If I don’t have them, I just don’t feel right. (Please analyze me; I don’t know where this issue originated!) The French onion dip, um, um, okay okay, I’ll mark it off the list already.

So far, my plan has gone fairly well. I’ve been creative with ingredients on hand. The pantry is less crowded and the cold air in my refrigerator and freezer can circulate more freely. I have baked muffins, biscuits, and cakes, simmered delicious soups, and cooked some tasty entrees. And for the first twenty days of January, I have only spent $28.39.

I am in a race with the expiration dates on the boxes, bottles, bags, and cans, so maybe I’ll have you over for dinner. Feel free to ask if you can take a sack of groceries home. But hands off the cilantro and shallots.