I am fortunate to work with many wonderful colleagues every day. One very special colleague is Gabby, our canine assistant – and a labradoodle. Her job is to remind us to “take a paws” occasionally from the endless stream of emails and to-dos to smell the roses (in her case, literally).
Gabby is a senior citizen now, approaching 14 years on this earth. Every morning, I guide her to the stairs and hold her collar while she works up the courage to take that first step down. Her failing eyes have robbed her of her depth perception. She is reluctant, shrinking from an undifferentiated horizontal plane that she knows will play tricks on her. Yet once she dares to take that first step, she descends the others with the confidence and grace of yesterday.
Never the kind of dog to wolf down her food, she has an even more discerning palate these days. Sometimes food rests easily in her stomach; other times, she barely nibbles if the food is not to her liking. She seems to know best what she needs and eats accordingly. Designer dog food is appreciated, along with home-cooked meals. I create intriguing mixtures of wet and dry and people foods. She likes these best. I’ve become a chef for my dog.
Whole days are spent sleeping. Typically, she transitions from one doggie bed to the next, following the sunlight or me. Occasionally, duty calls. A FedEx or UPS truck needs to be chased from the property. Another dog passing by requires intruder barking. Old habits persist, despite the fact that she’s lost her hearing as well as her sight. She has a job to do and she still performs it beautifully. She’s part of the team.
A trip to the beach in the autumn sunlight turns back her clock. Gabby gambols and struts, a friend to all, canine and human, happy to lean up against a perfect stranger, indiscriminate in her loving nature. If she’s lucky, there will be birds to chase, or the carcass of a crab to munch on.
The tragedy of giving our heart over to a dog is that their life is so abbreviated relative to our own, and painful loss is an inevitable part of the relationship. I try not to think of the day when she’ll follow her brother “over the Rainbow Bridge” and I’ll be left wishing for just one more afternoon together. Instead, I treasure every day she has left and wonder at her resilience in the face of stiffening joints, disorienting vision and hearing impairment, and the loss of her lifelong canine companion. I acknowledge her store of wisdom, and notice how she conserves her energy for what’s important. She ages with grace.
No amount of wishing for it to be otherwise prevents her from getting older. I can only appreciate her in the now. She is a treasure too easily overlooked in the busyness of my life. Still, she calls me to be present every day. She insists on it. And a good thing too – we all need such reminders. Such is the gift she offers – the opportunity to awaken to the preciousness of her being and to be aware of all the exquisite, tender moments in my life.
There’s a lesson for us in Gabby’s story. Something to do with how we decide what’s important in our work lives and how we show up for each other. We can get so focused on the task and working to desired outcomes that we forget we are living our lives in the meantime. Both matter. So today at work, like Gabby, take a paws, smell the roses, and appreciate your colleagues.