My Friend Duke
1/20/99
MY FRIEND DUKE
Yesterday I dropped by an old friend’s house and was greeted at his front gate by the warning bark of his new companion, Duke. Duke is short but spirited. His new job is protecting his master’s house. Just two months ago, he was found under a car. He is half dachshund, half Jack Russell terrier.
As soon as his master opened the gate for me, Duke seemed to realize I was a friend, not an intruder. The altered greeting he gave me was joyful. You would have thought I was a special and honored friend of his. So furiously did his back end whipsaw back and forth, his behind seemed powered by an engine separate from that which animated the rest of his body. His narrow tail slashed the air like a weedeater, and his powerful goatlike hindlegs kept lifting off the ground as though his propellor-tail were getting him airborne.
I felt….remembered. I felt as though someone on this Earth was made glad, made glad in every cell of his body, to see me. Duke was so glad to see me he literally could not control or contain his joy. Moreover, he had no interest in hiding his emotions. On the contrary, he was seized by the need to express his joy to me and make me know he loved me and thought well of me.
When I entered his master’s livingroom, I chose to sit on the floor with Duke because Duke was not permitted to sit on the sofa. As soon as Duke was able to restrain and calm himself enough to sit in one spot, he took up residence on my lap. He was a perfect fit. Not only was he overjoyed to see me, he seemed to be saying, but he trusted me and wanted to be very close to me.
I felt like an alpha wolf, returned to the pack’s lair after a long, tough, caribou hunt and greeted by one of my companions and co-adventurers. I also felt like an honored guest at the home of a seignorial host who was doing everything in his gracious power to make me feel welcome and at ease. Duke’s initial warning bark made his later, joyful recognition all the more special. “I don’t,” he seemed to be saying, “welcome just any old body into my master’s house. But you’re special. I know you and remember good things about our past times and look forward to even better ones in the future.”
I should mention that Duke has an even newer job than that of protecting his master and mistress’s house. His mistress takes him to hospital wards where he shares his charm, humor, love, and good will with sick children. I have some idea of the effect he has on them because I, too, went through a years-long period of pain, sickness, and isolation.
Sometimes the physical pain and emotional depression was so great that I lost sight of the gift of my own life. I felt worthless to myself and others. I was cast down. If Duke had come into my life at such a time, he would have reminded me that life is good, even when one is often alone, even when one frequently feels unloved, even when one is in physical discomfort and pain, even when one has been given a death sentence.
Duke says to those he knows and loves and to those he is befriending for the first time: “I don’t care how healthy you are. It makes no matter to me if you are well or ill. It’s still a joy to see you. It’s still a joy to share this time, this life, with you.”
“It’s amazing, isn’t it,” I said to Duke’s master, my old friend, as I sat in his livingroom with Duke on my lap, “what you can get for free in this world.” Duke’s master chuckled as we both thought of how Duke had come into our lives as though he had been conjured. What I mean is, Duke’s master and mistress had been planning to buy a Jack Russell terrier even before Duke strayed into their neighborhood. So the thought, the readiness, was already there. His owners had cleared a psychic space in their minds, and there Duke materialized.
But Duke has upped the ante and exceeded expectations. He has turned out to have not only the virtues of a Jack Russell, but those of a dachshund, as well. For one thing, though Jack Russells are extremely cute, Duke is even cuter. There is, for example, his antic pelt. He has large and whimsical spots, like those of a Guernsey cow, at random places on his body. His warm brown eyes are set in a crab-apple-shaped-and-sized head. With his bandy, bowed front legs and his rolling sailor’s gait, he seems both cowboy and cheerful pirate. He is foreshortened in every direction, yet his fierce vitality makes him appear to be bursting the bounds of his body. He is small in physique yet great in heart. He is always, as terriers are, ready for a good fight. But he is also capable of great tenderness and affection, which is a characteristic of dachshunds. Of course, dachshunds were originally bred to drag the ferocious badger from his burrow, that’s why they have such short legs---so they can dig into the low-built beast’s tunnel and then seize him under his neck, where he is vulnerable. So perhaps Duke is double brave, combining the pugnacious courage of the terrier with the Teutonic, tunnel-rat, determination of the hund.
This makes Duke’s good will especially gracious. For he is such a brave dog that we know he is not kowtowing to us. He’s not trying to curry favor. He’s afraid of nothing. His joy upon seeing us is fearlessly genuine. He’s like a warmhearted, unpretentious, war hero. We are flattered that such a great spirit should prove so immediately accessible. And we are encouraged and strengthened for the challenges of our own lives by contact with such a brave heart.
Recently, Duke’s owners and I went on a hike in the Santa Monica Mountains. Thinking of Duke’s short legs, I was a little worried. I thought the long, steep, climb might exhaust him. I should have known better. Our little hiking expedition split into two parties along the trail, perhaps because the women were slowed by their talking. These parties were divided by 100 yards or so. On the way up the mountain, Duke was always with the men, in the lead. On the way down, he ran back and forth between the lead party and the stragglers, keeping both groups in good order as any conscientious leader would.
“What a glorious thing it is to be in the great outdoors!” he seemed to be saying. “The sights, the smells, the other dogs you meet on the trail, there’s nothing like it! And when I get home, how good it will be to rest and relax indoors, with familiar objects and spaces and those I know and love best.”
Duke is a beast and a heathen. He heart burns with pagan joy. In his eyes flickers the flame of his wolfish ancestors. But he is also a gentleman and a Christian, a Buddhist, a Taoist, and a Zen master. He is an example and a reminder to us of what life is and what it can be. He always lives in the moment. He shares his full heart with anyone who is open to him. He’s a living lesson, though there is nothing pedantic about him.
His life span is shorter than most of ours will prove to be. But somewhere I read that all mammals, great and small, average about 2 million heartbeats in their allotted spans. The shrew and the pachyderm alike have their 2 million. The shrew, and the dachshund/terrier, merely complete their allotments more quickly and intensely than do larger beasts like primates and ungulates.
There is an urgency about Duke. He has a mission to complete. He must use himself fully, enjoying everything life has to offer, draining life to the dregs, before death takes him. He offers, in his very being, that same message to the rest of us. If you have the good fortune to be in his presence, he will doubtless awaken in you, too, what he has sparked in me. And if these words remind you of the worth and the gift of your life, if they prompt you to enjoy and share what you have while you have it, even if you are, at times, suffering, even if you feel you have been given a death sentence and are cast down and cannot understand how it is possible to live with both a fierce joy and the knowledge of impending death, then thank Duke. For it is his spirit which I am expressing to you through these words.
--FIN--
MY FRIEND DUKE
Yesterday I dropped by an old friend’s house and was greeted at his front gate by the warning bark of his new companion, Duke. Duke is short but spirited. His new job is protecting his master’s house. Just two months ago, he was found under a car. He is half dachshund, half Jack Russell terrier.
As soon as his master opened the gate for me, Duke seemed to realize I was a friend, not an intruder. The altered greeting he gave me was joyful. You would have thought I was a special and honored friend of his. So furiously did his back end whipsaw back and forth, his behind seemed powered by an engine separate from that which animated the rest of his body. His narrow tail slashed the air like a weedeater, and his powerful goatlike hindlegs kept lifting off the ground as though his propellor-tail were getting him airborne.
I felt….remembered. I felt as though someone on this Earth was made glad, made glad in every cell of his body, to see me. Duke was so glad to see me he literally could not control or contain his joy. Moreover, he had no interest in hiding his emotions. On the contrary, he was seized by the need to express his joy to me and make me know he loved me and thought well of me.
When I entered his master’s livingroom, I chose to sit on the floor with Duke because Duke was not permitted to sit on the sofa. As soon as Duke was able to restrain and calm himself enough to sit in one spot, he took up residence on my lap. He was a perfect fit. Not only was he overjoyed to see me, he seemed to be saying, but he trusted me and wanted to be very close to me.
I felt like an alpha wolf, returned to the pack’s lair after a long, tough, caribou hunt and greeted by one of my companions and co-adventurers. I also felt like an honored guest at the home of a seignorial host who was doing everything in his gracious power to make me feel welcome and at ease. Duke’s initial warning bark made his later, joyful recognition all the more special. “I don’t,” he seemed to be saying, “welcome just any old body into my master’s house. But you’re special. I know you and remember good things about our past times and look forward to even better ones in the future.”
I should mention that Duke has an even newer job than that of protecting his master and mistress’s house. His mistress takes him to hospital wards where he shares his charm, humor, love, and good will with sick children. I have some idea of the effect he has on them because I, too, went through a years-long period of pain, sickness, and isolation.
Sometimes the physical pain and emotional depression was so great that I lost sight of the gift of my own life. I felt worthless to myself and others. I was cast down. If Duke had come into my life at such a time, he would have reminded me that life is good, even when one is often alone, even when one frequently feels unloved, even when one is in physical discomfort and pain, even when one has been given a death sentence.
Duke says to those he knows and loves and to those he is befriending for the first time: “I don’t care how healthy you are. It makes no matter to me if you are well or ill. It’s still a joy to see you. It’s still a joy to share this time, this life, with you.”
“It’s amazing, isn’t it,” I said to Duke’s master, my old friend, as I sat in his livingroom with Duke on my lap, “what you can get for free in this world.” Duke’s master chuckled as we both thought of how Duke had come into our lives as though he had been conjured. What I mean is, Duke’s master and mistress had been planning to buy a Jack Russell terrier even before Duke strayed into their neighborhood. So the thought, the readiness, was already there. His owners had cleared a psychic space in their minds, and there Duke materialized.
But Duke has upped the ante and exceeded expectations. He has turned out to have not only the virtues of a Jack Russell, but those of a dachshund, as well. For one thing, though Jack Russells are extremely cute, Duke is even cuter. There is, for example, his antic pelt. He has large and whimsical spots, like those of a Guernsey cow, at random places on his body. His warm brown eyes are set in a crab-apple-shaped-and-sized head. With his bandy, bowed front legs and his rolling sailor’s gait, he seems both cowboy and cheerful pirate. He is foreshortened in every direction, yet his fierce vitality makes him appear to be bursting the bounds of his body. He is small in physique yet great in heart. He is always, as terriers are, ready for a good fight. But he is also capable of great tenderness and affection, which is a characteristic of dachshunds. Of course, dachshunds were originally bred to drag the ferocious badger from his burrow, that’s why they have such short legs---so they can dig into the low-built beast’s tunnel and then seize him under his neck, where he is vulnerable. So perhaps Duke is double brave, combining the pugnacious courage of the terrier with the Teutonic, tunnel-rat, determination of the hund.
This makes Duke’s good will especially gracious. For he is such a brave dog that we know he is not kowtowing to us. He’s not trying to curry favor. He’s afraid of nothing. His joy upon seeing us is fearlessly genuine. He’s like a warmhearted, unpretentious, war hero. We are flattered that such a great spirit should prove so immediately accessible. And we are encouraged and strengthened for the challenges of our own lives by contact with such a brave heart.
Recently, Duke’s owners and I went on a hike in the Santa Monica Mountains. Thinking of Duke’s short legs, I was a little worried. I thought the long, steep, climb might exhaust him. I should have known better. Our little hiking expedition split into two parties along the trail, perhaps because the women were slowed by their talking. These parties were divided by 100 yards or so. On the way up the mountain, Duke was always with the men, in the lead. On the way down, he ran back and forth between the lead party and the stragglers, keeping both groups in good order as any conscientious leader would.
“What a glorious thing it is to be in the great outdoors!” he seemed to be saying. “The sights, the smells, the other dogs you meet on the trail, there’s nothing like it! And when I get home, how good it will be to rest and relax indoors, with familiar objects and spaces and those I know and love best.”
Duke is a beast and a heathen. He heart burns with pagan joy. In his eyes flickers the flame of his wolfish ancestors. But he is also a gentleman and a Christian, a Buddhist, a Taoist, and a Zen master. He is an example and a reminder to us of what life is and what it can be. He always lives in the moment. He shares his full heart with anyone who is open to him. He’s a living lesson, though there is nothing pedantic about him.
His life span is shorter than most of ours will prove to be. But somewhere I read that all mammals, great and small, average about 2 million heartbeats in their allotted spans. The shrew and the pachyderm alike have their 2 million. The shrew, and the dachshund/terrier, merely complete their allotments more quickly and intensely than do larger beasts like primates and ungulates.
There is an urgency about Duke. He has a mission to complete. He must use himself fully, enjoying everything life has to offer, draining life to the dregs, before death takes him. He offers, in his very being, that same message to the rest of us. If you have the good fortune to be in his presence, he will doubtless awaken in you, too, what he has sparked in me. And if these words remind you of the worth and the gift of your life, if they prompt you to enjoy and share what you have while you have it, even if you are, at times, suffering, even if you feel you have been given a death sentence and are cast down and cannot understand how it is possible to live with both a fierce joy and the knowledge of impending death, then thank Duke. For it is his spirit which I am expressing to you through these words.
--FIN--
posted by mobydoug at 12:55 AM
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