Sometimes I need the dog’s perspective.

Oh I’m grateful for our human tools, including the brain’s ability to puzzle out and fix things. But sometimes enough is enough.

Like when I wake at 3 a.m. with ideas for what Kamala Harris can say in her debate or on the campaign trail; I don’t have her number, and frankly events have shown she’s doing fine without me weighing in. Or when my fantasies for one-of-these-days retirement turn into long to-do lists; only this brain, I think to myself, can turn a fun musing into a chore. I do not want my post-work life to be the same old worry, just about different problems.

When it comes to troubleshooting the garden lights or fixing the PC or incentivizing the kids to get to the damn school on time, my monkey mind has a plan that’s often pretty good. At least decent. But once that thing is fixed, it will spin up new riddles to solve rather than taking a breath.

I saw this dramatically with our dog’s health problems. Gizmo has fur like velcro, and every burr and barbed dried seed looking to spread itself to new pastures will latch onto him. Gizmo hates being combed or having anything pull on his fur. To comb out or cut out the stickers, I’ve taken to putting a muzzle on him. He gets hysterical and will bite and thrash.

Recently there was a foxtail, a particularly evil poking seed pod we have around here, in the fur between the pads of his right paw. By the time I got a look at it, the paw was bleeding and it looked like the foxtail was embedded in his foot. These can be dangerous, the wriggle in and can get infected or even wander around inside a dog and cause very serious problems. From a seed!

I took him to the vet, where they gave him some calming drugs to take a look. But to give him the drugs they do bloodwork to make sure everything’s ok. I usually think of this as a pointless upsell, but shockingly the labs came back not ok. His liver values are super high. Since they had him calmed down, and the ultrasound tech was there to investigate the embedded thing in his paw, they took a look at his liver, which has a large mass in it. This is likely bad news, though it’s not certain. I had a cat who outlived a dire prognosis for years, but in general a mass in one’s liver … not good.

The humans in our family have been upset. I couldn’t believe we’d taken Gizmo in for a simple thing and come out with a possible end-of-life situation. What? As my teens would say angrily. We were sad and in shock, and Gizmo was quite agitated and acting unwell. I took this, of course, as a tragic sign of the end. But as the week went on, and his paw healed, it became clear that Gizmo, ignoring our words, was focused just on his paw, and maybe our emotions. Once he started walking ok and not being tortured by the cone of shame, he felt great. He’s running around like his usual mad self, and napping peacefully. No more whining and weird behavior.

This might not last, and of course we’re watching for signs of other trouble, but he’s really not worrying about his liver function blood test results and what they might mean tomorrow. He’s in his body, feeling the recovered paw, out on the town and enjoying his life.

I am touched and inspired by this canine brain skill. If we leave on an errand he’s bummed, but when we come home he’s thrilled, and doesn’t seem to worry that we might leave again. Wouldn’t that be an amazing attitude if I managed to cultivate it? I would love to be present with what is, and thankful for every day he’s still well and running around. If problems come up I have my monkey mind to puzzle them out, but in the mean time, it would be tragic not to enjoy the sunny day.