Waiting with the Dog

Blog Post #23 -- Monica Rae

-- February 6th, 2022 --

I'm a compassionate person. I have this innate ability to understand people’s differing perspectives (even when I disagree with them).

While I can be empathetic, I am not patient.

In fact, I hate waiting.

My default is to fix. Waiting requires me to assume a different role.

In recent weeks I have juggled the typical landslide of routine and obligation. All while growing a bowling ball size human that likes to do jumping jacks on my bladder at three in the morning.

A surprise job loss has left me navigating how to apply for new employment while anticipating giving birth.

My mechanic informs me I need four new tires and a new motor in the driver’s side window that froze open during a recent day with temperatures 10 below zero.

My doctor informs me that my incompetent cervix is starting to show signs of concern.

My lawyer informs me the process remains slow in getting my partner here with a greencard.

I am not disillusioned. These are minor issues in the scope of what many humans face in the daily struggle to survive.

And yet, I find myself in a waiting room of sorts.

Fifteen years ago, I sat across from Sister Mary Carol, a nun and director of a family service organization in Sioux Falls. She had become a colleague and confidant as I was 5 years into running a medical nonprofit. That day, I sat across from her as a friend, pregnant with my first daughter, 30lbs heavier, full of apprehension and hormones. Not about being a mother—I knew I could handle the task. I was afraid of the waiting.

Will I get lost in the daily routine of breastfeeding, diaper changes and work demands?

How can I be productive or make a difference if I am paused?

She laughed.

Having no children of her own she spoke with a wisdom that I believe was ordained. She smiled and relayed to me, “For a time you will be tending to an angel. That will be your purpose. That will be your usefulness. Because she will grow and, in the waiting, so will you.”

I didn’t know what she meant at the time. But I recall those words now.

For in the waiting, in the unknown, in the entertaining of angels resides a learning, a stretching,

a preparedness.

While it was a nun who taught me the lessons of waiting with my first daughter—it would be an aging Labrador Retriever that would remind me in the midst of my second pregnancy.

He followed me into the bedroom and sat upon his wrinkles and slanted front legs. He looked through me because he knew me. He waited for my response. In fact, he waits patiently for me all the time. My ten-year old K9 companion, Harlee, is the one who has taught me the definition of loyalty when I couldn’t define it with my own circumstances.

I held him at 6 weeks old—the fattest and most wrinkle faced of his litter. He cried the whole 2-hour drive home and spent the first few years of his life chewing up anything that he could put between his teeth. He doesn’t use words. But if I am paying attention, I know exactly what he is saying. And now, white hair surrounds his eyes and arthritis has created a slight curve in his front legs. He rises from slumber in less of a hurry now but knows what I am feeling by the tone of my voice and the way I move. He still treats every puppy, kitten, and baby he meets like something he was born to tend to—cleaning them and protecting them from harm.

He has painted my understanding of what it means to listen to the unspoken and to respect the laws of nature I am privy to.

The older I get the more I believe I am living in a world that doesn’t belong to me. I am a visitor in time and space—surrounded by the beauty of stars and sun, plants, and animals.

These natural expressions of God’s ability are not in my world.

I am in theirs.

Why is this knowledge significant?

Because there is power and comfort in knowing that even in the loneliness of human existence—when modern life blankets the unknown—there remains purpose.

Even if it seems hidden.

The other night my daughter and I were watching a movie we had seen before. The main character William, a 13-year-old boy, was working on a wind powered water source to help his family and village. The boy called upon his dog who did not respond. He glanced over to find him underneath a tree, having no doubt starved to death from the drought conditions. The boy sat beside his companion and wept.

But this time, I couldn’t watch the scene. I pulled the blanket over my eyes as my daughter fast forwarded the movie to the next scene.

I cried.

I do this sometimes.

When my ability to relate to the moment collides with the intensity of my emotions (and hormones!).

Mahatma Gandhi said, “The greatness of a nation and its moral progress can be judged by the way its animals are treated.” I like the way Gandhi pays respect to the presence of animals in society—how morality and nature are inferred to be intertwined. As though it was designed that way for a reason—for a purpose.

The natural world created by God to exist independent of the opinion of humans. It is silent in its defense and loud in its persistence and adaptability. I am a visitor of this world—for a time. I am also a caretaker. We all are.

I ache when animals are mistreated like the abuse of a child who can not defend themselves. My anger rises when I learn of companies that put profit margins above preservation measures of natural habitats. And every stray animal that has come my way has never been denied a meal or at the very least my respect.

When it comes to animals many of us brush aside our emotions because ‘it’s just a dog or cat or bird,’ and they are just a part of the cycle of life. We minimize the human response because we believe the animal cannot reciprocate and is therefore less deserving of our vulnerability.

Not me.

So, it is not surprising that I would take this perspective with me wherever I go. Including four trips to two different African countries in the last year. Chickens walking through the village, red monkeys perching on the trees in the forest off the Gambian coast, cows crossing the road in sync with the flow of traffic, birds of every color wooing each other with each sunrise, or packs of dogs roaming the beaches and city streets. A harmony of society and nature.

Why do we lean into the embrace of animals---especially during difficult times?

I think it is the silent yet obvious reality that the connection was designed to humble us and lift us up at the same time.

The truth is---there are things we are required to wait for—that are out of our control

And there are things we don’t have to wait for…

Like surrendering to this breathtaking world where the rain gives way to life, the sun nourishes it and the animals that inhabit it serve as a reminder —I wasn’t meant to control it all—I wasn’t meant to know it all.

I realize once again…

The world does not revolve around me…And yet, I was not left to wander alone

Hidden in the tears that fall from my face to his wet nose is the collision of fear and comfort. He wipes them with his tongue…that smells a bit like cheese and dog breath…I don’t care. I smile. He sighs and assumes his position beside my bed – waiting for the sun to rise.

My daughters will be cared for

My bills will remain

Doors will open for jobs

And I will stay wrapped in the knowledge that my purpose is found in each season of life. The ebb and flow of waiting, creating, helping…

Hidden in the gesture of an animal, the movement of stars across the sky, the warmth of the sun that falls through the dirty car window is the balance of the familiar and the sacred—

There lies the reminder…

I am not waiting alone.

DEDICATION: For Harlee, the dog who teaches me life lessons as he waits beside me. To Agie—whose unending patience and dedication to our family is my haven—even over the miles we must endure.