My Wise Old Man
“People don’t always need advice. Sometimes all they really need is a hand to hold, an ear to listen, and a heart to understand them”
Tucker is recovering from surgery. The vet removed a cancerous tumour that had appeared quite suddenly on his back leg, scraping deep and wide to excise all the cancer cells. She was successful. I canceled my plans for the week and thought to myself, perfect, this will give me lots of time to write. I was wrong, I have barely put pen to paper. Tucker has slept in most mornings, stretched out on the bed beside me while I enjoyed my morning coffee and read through the pile of mystery novels piled up by my bed. Those of you who read last week's blog post will know that I was looking forward to a bed of my own while my husband was out of town – but I did not begrudge Tucker all the bed space he needed. Despite some discomfort, his body would stretch along the length of me, bringing warmth and comfort to us both. I would lie there, barely moving, leg cramping because I did not want to disturb him.
Our days consisted of resting and walking, with reading and Netflix thrown into the mix for me. Usually, we head out every morning for a 2 – 3 hour-long walk, depending on the weather and out energy level. This week our walks have been shorter and more frequent. Although Tucker has been moving slowly, the moment he sensed we were heading out he would barrel by me ready to fly down the stairs. Worried about his stitches, I would grab his collar so we could both walk down safely.
Yesterday Tucker had more energy and was no longer limping so we took a longer walk, following trails through a local park. He is squirrel obsessed and knows the exact trees they frequent and so he was completely focused on looking up, on squirrel alert. Suddenly he stopped and stood completely still, staring at me. I pulled on his leash – nothing. I asked him what was wrong but no reaction. I looked around for squirrels but none were in sight. This has been happening more frequently these last few months. We've wondered if it's his age. There are days that he has just had enough and wants to turn around and go home. Sometimes he is stubbornly telling me that he wants to go in a different direction. But too often, I haven't got a clue what he's trying to tell me.
His gaze shifted and he looked intently down a side trail. There was a young woman walking towards us. She looked to be in her late 20's and she was walking along with her head down, shoulders slumped, hands in her pockets. Tucker just stared at her. She didn't notice us until she almost bumped into us. And then she knew we were there, only because Tucker had stood up to meet her and after nudging her hand, he had sat down on her feet and leaned his body into her. She tentatively placed her hand on his head. I said, "I think he likes you" but she didn't react. Then I added, "I think Tucker thinks you may need a hug." She lifted her head to look at me and a slight smile wavered on her lips. She then leaned down and wrapped herself around him. Tucker put his head on her shoulder and for a few moments they were lost in each other. The young woman then straightened up, held my gaze, and with another slight smile said "thank you". Tucker came and sat at my side and this time leaned against me as we both watched her walk away.
This past month, in preparation for a retreat I am attending in April, I have been reading and journaling on the practice of holding space for others and ourselves. Holding space is to be present for someone without judgment or giving advice. It is about acceptance and compassion, putting aside your own needs and opinions and just being there for the other person. As I stood with Tucker watching this young woman continue on her walk, I realized that he had been holding space for her.
Tucker often notices when someone needs comfort. On our walks, we regularly meet up with John, who is recently widowed. The two of us will settle ourselves on a bench by the river to chat and Tucker will sit beside John and lay his head on his lap during our conversation. We also run into Margaret, a bubbly 85 year old who speaks frankly about her decline into dementia. Again, Tucker will quietly lean against Margaret while she strokes his fur. And, much like our encounter with the young woman on the trail yesterday, Tucker will sometimes approach complete strangers. During those moments, Tucker is simply there for the person, not asking for treats, not nudging someone's hand to be petted but just holding space for them.
As I continue reading and reflecting to get ready for my retreat, Tucker is a reminder that the lessons I need to learn are all around me, books don't hold all the answers. Sometimes all I need is to spend time with my wise old dog who always holds space for me.