daily dog lick: The other big lesson my dog taught me

Yesterday, I wrote about one big lesson Danny taught me while we dealt with his period of disability. He was always ready to have fun, even if he did it in his limited way. He never seemed to focus on what was missing, only what he could do. I've tried to have his attitude in my life.

The other big lesson I learned from him, or from the experience of caring for him while he was disabled, is about human nature. I find it incredibly easy to get down on people. Daily, I see examples of rude, inconsiderate or unethical behavior and I can get really bummed out. The world could easily be a much better place with small changes in behavior. What I learned from Danny's illness is that people can be incredibly kind as well. So many times I was taken aback at the kindness and compassion people showed to us and Danny. Even today, after he has been healthy almost a year and a half (yay!), people still ask about him and acknowledge him as we walk by.

Here we are out for a walk one evening:

Danny loved to go to the dog park even when he was at his least mobile. Dog park people are usually pretty nice, but the kindness I received was just amazing. People always asked if I needed help with Danny or the wagon, and were always conscious of their dog playing too roughly with him. It usually wasn't a problem because he couldn't really get hurt laying on his back. There was one really big dog (probably 120 pounds) that Danny loved. He was quite young still, and hadn't come to realize how big he was. His person actually sat on the ground in the dog park and helped her dog play gently with Danny.

Another time, I was having a particularly bad day and had been crying most of the day. I had Danny out front for a quick bathroom break, and some new neighbors I barely knew came by with their dog and asked how he was. I burst into tears before I could get a word out. I apologized to them, but they were unfazed by my emotion and stayed and talked with me for a few minutes. The encouragement of almost strangers was so uplifting on a day when I really needed it.

One day I was pulling Danny along in his wagon and we went past an elementary school at recess. A bunch of boys, perhaps 10 years old, were by the fence and one boy said "Man, that is one lazy dog." The kids chuckled at this, but another boy piped in with "Shut up dude, maybe he doesn't have any legs." By this time more boys and some girls were looking at us, so I responded that he couldn't walk too well. The communal "awwwww" and expressions of compassion from such young kids melted my heart. I did make sure to tell them that he had a great life, got out a lot and didn't seem to be in pain. This perked them up and they followed up with lots of questions.

We made quite a site when I pulled him in the wagon. One day, a guy said hello to me and made a humorous comment and laughed. I didn't mind - certainly Danny's illness wasn't funny, but a human pulling a full-sized dog in a big yellow wagon is funny looking. I laugh sometimes when I see pictures of us. He was immediately horrified at what he had done, and proceeded to apologize profusely. I assured him it was no problem and that I understood what he was laughing at. He wanted me to see just how cute and funny Danny looked from his perspective, so he held the wagon for me so I could step away and see for myself. He was right, it was quite funny and it did add a light moment to my day.

People can be really awful, but when I think back to this period in my life it reminds me of how good they can be too.