Week 10
This is probably the piece that has been the most difficult to start. Yet, the subject is what I love the most in life. What has taught me most in life. What motivates me. What occupies the softest part of my heart. Dogs. Especially my dog, Bernard. I just love him so much. I love them all. I'll tell you how much.
When I was in 2nd grade I accidentally saw in the news how dogs were being tortured in Korea. My parents had no time to turn the TV off or change the channel, as my mom and dad fumbled through the couch and cushions looking for the remote control to no avail. I had seen enough. I didn't sleep that night. I cried so much I can still feel the heaviness in my chest when I think back to that night. I was hurting for them. At the time my two best friends were Asian. I didn't know exactly from what country. But at that age we're learning about life, and we create our own categories, and I immediately placed them in that group. The next day I saw them, and did not want to speak to them. So I didn't. I later told them as my voice quivered, why I was never going to speak to them again. Again, I was in second grade. I didn't know any better. My teacher spoke to me, and called my mother. I learned I was wrong, and so I apologized to my friends, who accepted my apologies, or probably had no clue as to what I was talking about or apologizing for, and we quickly became friends again. However, the image that was recorded in my brain, still produced the same pressure in my chest. The same sadness. The same anger.
I loved dogs so much that in elementary school I was convinced I was going to be accepted to Cornell University to their veterinary program. Until I soon learned that my responsibilities as a veterinary included performing surgeries, watching them pass away, and crying with families as they said their last goodbyes. That's when I changed my mind.
In 5th grade, I found several of my dog brother Wolfy's puppy teeth around my house. I collected 4 and took them to school to show them off with pride. They never returned home with me, as I lost them in the cafeteria. That night I hugged him and cried into his fur. I had lost a treasure.
When I was 9, I tried refuting our family pastor's theory that animals don't go to heaven. I felt especially offended with his remark as my younger brother, Wolfy, was a dog. The pastor had not died and gone to heaven. He didn't have a family member who walked down from heaven and given him the 411. How would he know? I refused to believe him. So, after the sermon, I decided to ask him where he had obtained that information from. "The Bible" he responded. At 9 years old, my heart learned that the Bible wasn't a reliable source, especially if it stated such things; and second, God, no matter what religion, was the definition of love, why would he reject animals? What was so special about us humans? I asked for the verse, but he didn't know it. I then, tried to prove my point as to why animals did go to heaven. And lastly, I decided that not only the Bible, but he, also, was no longer reliable to me. Wolfy was going to heaven, no matter what he said, no matter how he or anyone thought life after death worked. No one knows how that's going to go down anyway. The only thing I was sure of was that Wolfy was more deserving of a heaven than him, and most people I knew.
Growing up, whenever I was asked about my siblings, I always said I had two. Wolfy was the first one mentioned. My response was something like this "I have two brothers, Wolfy is the youngest, he's a German Shepherd/Husky mix, and my older brother, Jose." I got some laughs, some weird looks, some "me too!" The answer I gave wasn't to be cute, to be funny, or to obtain any type of response, it was just the truth. It was my truth.
I taught my dad to love dogs. He grew up not having any pets, and the only reason he accepted Wolfy was because I begged for him. I taught him to understand them. To pet them. I showed him that they had feelings and emotions, through numerous books I borrowed from our local library, and by giving him examples of Wolfy's behaviors that reflected his emotions. I cried when he didn't show Wolfy affection the way I thought only Wolfy desereved. Until he did. Until I saw him cry when Wolfy passed away. Then I realized my dad had changed. His heart now had a soft spot for dogs because I was stubborn. Because I didn't accept bland treatment or indifference. Because he had to say hi and bye to him upon entering and leaving our home. Because he had to wear a birthday hat and sing happy birthday to Wolfy for 13 years. Because I insisted and didn't accept anything but love from his part towards Wolfy. Because Wolfy himself taught my dad how to love dogs. How to love him.
After Wolfy's passing, Bernard came into my life. My fur-son. He has taught me and continues to teach me a whole different set of life lessons. He has helped me discover some layers of myself I probably wouldn't have discovered, had it not been for him. Because of Bernard I say with pride, that I am a dog photographer. He motivates me. He pushes my boundaries. He's not only my muse but somehow he has guided me to other dogs, to shelter dogs. To use my talents to help them. I am now an artist member for HeARTS speak, a global community of artists and advocates who provide their professional services pro-bono to save the lives of shelter pets through art. All because of Bernard.
I look at what I do and where I am now, and look back at all my experiences with Wolfy, Bernard, and dogs in general. They have taught me so much. So much more than college courses, than books I've read. They have taught me loyalty, compassion, love, friendship, unconditionality, forgiveness, happiness, joy, self care, and more importantly, to live in the moment.
They have taught me the real deal. The important things in life. Life lessons taught without a board, without a book, without a word. They were taught through example, through simply living.
Thank you Wolfy. Thank you Bernard. Thank you beautiful dogs!
When I was in 2nd grade I accidentally saw in the news how dogs were being tortured in Korea. My parents had no time to turn the TV off or change the channel, as my mom and dad fumbled through the couch and cushions looking for the remote control to no avail. I had seen enough. I didn't sleep that night. I cried so much I can still feel the heaviness in my chest when I think back to that night. I was hurting for them. At the time my two best friends were Asian. I didn't know exactly from what country. But at that age we're learning about life, and we create our own categories, and I immediately placed them in that group. The next day I saw them, and did not want to speak to them. So I didn't. I later told them as my voice quivered, why I was never going to speak to them again. Again, I was in second grade. I didn't know any better. My teacher spoke to me, and called my mother. I learned I was wrong, and so I apologized to my friends, who accepted my apologies, or probably had no clue as to what I was talking about or apologizing for, and we quickly became friends again. However, the image that was recorded in my brain, still produced the same pressure in my chest. The same sadness. The same anger.I loved dogs so much that in elementary school I was convinced I was going to be accepted to Cornell University to their veterinary program. Until I soon learned that my responsibilities as a veterinary included performing surgeries, watching them pass away, and crying with families as they said their last goodbyes. That's when I changed my mind.
In 5th grade, I found several of my dog brother Wolfy's puppy teeth around my house. I collected 4 and took them to school to show them off with pride. They never returned home with me, as I lost them in the cafeteria. That night I hugged him and cried into his fur. I had lost a treasure.When I was 9, I tried refuting our family pastor's theory that animals don't go to heaven. I felt especially offended with his remark as my younger brother, Wolfy, was a dog. The pastor had not died and gone to heaven. He didn't have a family member who walked down from heaven and given him the 411. How would he know? I refused to believe him. So, after the sermon, I decided to ask him where he had obtained that information from. "The Bible" he responded. At 9 years old, my heart learned that the Bible wasn't a reliable source, especially if it stated such things; and second, God, no matter what religion, was the definition of love, why would he reject animals? What was so special about us humans? I asked for the verse, but he didn't know it. I then, tried to prove my point as to why animals did go to heaven. And lastly, I decided that not only the Bible, but he, also, was no longer reliable to me. Wolfy was going to heaven, no matter what he said, no matter how he or anyone thought life after death worked. No one knows how that's going to go down anyway. The only thing I was sure of was that Wolfy was more deserving of a heaven than him, and most people I knew.
Growing up, whenever I was asked about my siblings, I always said I had two. Wolfy was the first one mentioned. My response was something like this "I have two brothers, Wolfy is the youngest, he's a German Shepherd/Husky mix, and my older brother, Jose." I got some laughs, some weird looks, some "me too!" The answer I gave wasn't to be cute, to be funny, or to obtain any type of response, it was just the truth. It was my truth.I taught my dad to love dogs. He grew up not having any pets, and the only reason he accepted Wolfy was because I begged for him. I taught him to understand them. To pet them. I showed him that they had feelings and emotions, through numerous books I borrowed from our local library, and by giving him examples of Wolfy's behaviors that reflected his emotions. I cried when he didn't show Wolfy affection the way I thought only Wolfy desereved. Until he did. Until I saw him cry when Wolfy passed away. Then I realized my dad had changed. His heart now had a soft spot for dogs because I was stubborn. Because I didn't accept bland treatment or indifference. Because he had to say hi and bye to him upon entering and leaving our home. Because he had to wear a birthday hat and sing happy birthday to Wolfy for 13 years. Because I insisted and didn't accept anything but love from his part towards Wolfy. Because Wolfy himself taught my dad how to love dogs. How to love him.
After Wolfy's passing, Bernard came into my life. My fur-son. He has taught me and continues to teach me a whole different set of life lessons. He has helped me discover some layers of myself I probably wouldn't have discovered, had it not been for him. Because of Bernard I say with pride, that I am a dog photographer. He motivates me. He pushes my boundaries. He's not only my muse but somehow he has guided me to other dogs, to shelter dogs. To use my talents to help them. I am now an artist member for HeARTS speak, a global community of artists and advocates who provide their professional services pro-bono to save the lives of shelter pets through art. All because of Bernard.I look at what I do and where I am now, and look back at all my experiences with Wolfy, Bernard, and dogs in general. They have taught me so much. So much more than college courses, than books I've read. They have taught me loyalty, compassion, love, friendship, unconditionality, forgiveness, happiness, joy, self care, and more importantly, to live in the moment.
They have taught me the real deal. The important things in life. Life lessons taught without a board, without a book, without a word. They were taught through example, through simply living.Thank you Wolfy. Thank you Bernard. Thank you beautiful dogs!
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