“Each week we’ll hear from a banker or
butcher, a painter or social worker as they discuss the principles
that guide their daily lives. We realize what a daunting prospect
this is — to summarize a life’s philosophy in just 500
words and share it with a national audience. But that’s
exactly what we hope you will do.”
—Radio producer Jay Allison, in his introduction to the “This
I Believe” series on National Public Radio
Well, Jay, I
know this is a long shot. You’ve got Colin Powell and Newt
Gingrich in your series, after all. Why should you bother with the
beliefs of an undergrown Australian shepherd mix who’s still
figuring out the difference between Sit and Down? But I’ve
been trying to make my owner understand me, and she’s just
not getting it. I hope a national audience will help my cause.
You see, I believe in the present. When I’m hanging
my head out of the car window, or lying on my back in a comfy bed
of weeds, I’m not worrying about the 2008 presidential
elections, or the fate of the Endangered Species Act. (Though I do
sometimes wonder if chasing rabbits will ever be defined as “take.”)
Instead, I’m soaking up my surroundings, thinking about wind,
sky, sun and sleep. The here and now always seems worth my
attention.
But at least once a day, my owner looks up
from her computer, or the newspaper, with an all-too-familiar look
of desperation. Then she says something like, “Pika, did you know
that the Greenland ice sheet is melting even faster than anyone
thought?”
I try, I really do. I fix her with my gentlest,
most sympathetic dog look, and I say, “That’s a big problem.
A big, big problem. But don’t you think you’d be better
able to face it if you did just a little deep panting, and took a
nice long look out the window?”
She sighs. “I know,
Pika,” she says. “The present moment is all we’ve got.
According to you and Ram Dass and all those chicken-soup books, not
to mention the Buddha and Thoreau. But I don’t have time for
any panting or looking around. Didn’t you hear what
I just said about the ice sheet?”
That’s
usually when she pours herself another cup of coffee, and starts
eating chocolate chips straight from the bag.
She’s
not listening. In fact, she’s in the next room right now,
compulsively checking her e-mail, in a state about God knows what.
But I hope the rest of you will give me a chance. I’m not
saying you should give up on your good works, or even stop that
fretting you humans seem so skilled at. We non-humans want you to
clean up your planetary messes, so we need all the guilt and good
works you can muster.
I’m only suggesting that you
notice when spring slides into summer, when the backyard cactus
blooms, and maybe even when the garbageman arrives. You could
notice when your neighbor passes by, or, when you sit down to
dinner with your family, you could notice how the food tastes.
Then, after a brief visit to the present, you could get right back
to the uncertain future, resuming your fretting about global
warming or the upcoming town council elections. No one would miss
you, I promise — and I suspect you’d feel a lot better
for your journey.
Take it from someone who lives seven
days for every one of yours: Our moments on this earth are
numbered, and briefer than any of us can possibly imagine. I
believe each one is worth noticing.
Pika lives
in Paonia, Colorado, with her family, which includes
HCN contributing editor Michelle
Nijhuis.
This article appeared in the print edition of the magazine with the headline This dog believes.
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