The little whys

All of us sometimes wonder why the world is so harsh, why innocents get hurt seemingly needlessly and why we can't all just be a little more rational.

It can make you crazy. Especially if you have a natural tendency for obsession as I do. So one of my releases is to let go of the big whys and spend some fun time with the little whys. Quite often, they involve my dog, Rusty.

Observing him is one of the great and small pleasures in my life. He and I have only been together since last summer, and he's still growing up. So the changes and behaviors are often new to us both.

An example is his reliance versus independence. Almost all of the time, Rusty is exactly at my side one step back. While I'm doing the mundane or the important, that is the post he chooses. He's fairly wise about avoiding my sudden moves and his apparently tender feet. It's a good thing because something about his golden retriever breed makes him almost silent. I have no idea how something about 70 pounds and a big swishy high tail can appear and disappear without a sound. But I don't get much space. Just enough.

Until fall approached. And I noticed the other side. He wants that back door open to ensure his ability to return to his post. But he'd rather be outside again and again exploring a small space he ought to have down pat by now. If I'd join out there, he'd be in heaven. He could fulfill his duty and curiousity all at once.

I don't understand his sense of obligation and alternate sense of freedom and adventure. But I recognize it.

And then there's his sense of organization. Regularly each day, he has to put his toys away - by his order, not mine. Sometimes they are gathered and placed on my bathroom floor. He has a couch upon which he can sit before an upstairs window and watch the world go by. Most often, it is upon that window sill the toys are stored. A squeaky ball, what's left of the end of a rope chew and whatever current chewbone he has been provided. Nothing he steals, only what he is given and shown is his. If you take them down and play with them, they will eventually be returned to the spot by him.

On the other hand, Rusty fulfills his need to chew with fireplace logs. Like many people, there's a log pile in the back corner of the back yard. He chooses his logs from there. Drags them into a shady spot under the big oak where he can keep an eye on everything and sharpens his amazingly white teeth on a hardwood. In comparison to his other belongings, however, these logs never get put back. In fact, when oak stops tasting so good, cedar becomes a new challenge. But within a few feet of the oak log. This changes at least four times over a couple of days. The wood pile is soon a wood strewn. And even when I go and reassemble the pile, he repeats the sloppying process.

Today I was smirking at these seeming dichotomies when it struck me. He's not confusing. Rusty is Rickie. Not in the exact behaviors, but in the incongruities. I am never middle of the road, aware I choose the bar ditches to see what surprise is hidden there. And I switch from left to right constantly. I do some things consistently because I believe it is my duty, my responsibility. And every now and then I say screw it and do whatever I want completely upon whim. Because it feels right to me.

I sometimes feel guilty about my inability to be consistent. But then I laugh aloud at the silliness that is Rusty's behavior. And see how his doing those things make him do the Goofy Dance, straight up in the air, body twisting and tongue lolling. He doesn't try to understand them, he just does them and finds it makes him happy.

I'm going to come up with more little whys and just enjoy them. Hell, maybe even find myself in a Goofy Dance every now and then.