Remembrance of things wet and wonderful

By Strider the Dog

Dear Strider,

This morning I read a newspaper column by a guy I used to admire. He titled it, “An exchange with a young person who is understandably dismayed.” I wanted to read it, mainly because I am a dismayed young person, although maybe not as young as I used to be, and feeling older every day.

Anyway, this young person talked about how he and others like him (like me!) were committed to change, but felt like dogs barking at the side of the main table. So how was anything supposed to change like that? The columnist told him, essentially, to stand up straight, slap himself, and get to work to change things.

That just seemed kind of glib. I mean the columnist has been writing for a long time, and things just got worse all the time he was proposing how there could be change for the better. I had to agree with the “young person” that politics has become entertainment for the masses, like big time wrestling. I got how tired he is, and how discouraged. And the words the columnist answered him with just seemed tired and discouraging to me, not a rallying cry at all. What was he proposing we rally around?

That “dogs barking at the side of the table” comment made me think of you. Do you feel discouraged, Strider, that you’re a dog barking and nothing seems to get any better? Or do you have some words for me that won’t just seem like more superficial piety?

— Discouraged College Student

Dear Discouraged,

I hear you! When I was a pup, hearing older dogs go on about how they did things better in their day was really annoying. So now that I’m an older dog, I really try to keep away from that. But sometimes I can’t help it. I remember one old dog telling me it didn’t do any good to bark like a maniac at anyone approaching our parked car. He told me it was better to just keep very quiet, and then if the person approaching tries to break into the car, that’s when to put all my energy behind what I think is right.  

That was sound advice. But I thought he was just blither blathering, the way old dogs do.

So maybe there’s something in what the columnist said? I mean, it did sound a lot like blither blathering, but maybe there’s a kernel of wisdom in there, like there was in that “Keep quiet until it’s necessary, then go!” advice.

Maybe you could listen to what you and your friends are barking about. Maybe listen if something new enters the chat. New ways of looking at things are needed to bring new answers and new ways of acting.  Who knows? There may be something in there new to rally around. What about universal health care? I’m not sure what that is, but I hear a lot about it when I’m lying under the humans’ dinner table.

Maybe even take a break from useless barking? I hate sounding like an old dog, but it’s you pups who have to change things. It’s up to you to come up with a new rallying cry. It’s you who has the energy. So maybe get some rest, think things over, and start again from another position, one that’s not “tired and discouraging.”

It’s really the only way. The alternative is just to roll over on your back and, paws in the air, give up.

And that’s no alternative at all.

Dear Strider,

I appreciate the advice you give, but it must take a toll. How do you recuperate? What do you do in your time off?

— Curious

Dear Curious,

I’m an old dog now, so really what I like best is lying in the sun, hanging out with the Old Cedar Tree, or visiting my friend Koda and chewing the fat. And I like to remember all the good things that have happened in my life.

When I was young, at the dog orphanage, I could run like the wind. What I really got a kick out of was chasing trucks as they drove up the road on the other side of the dog orphanage fence. It was a good long run until the fence ended, and sometimes the truck’s driver would even give me a friendly hand wave and a good-bye honk as they drove off.

Later, after I’d been adopted, when we’d go to the beach I really loved to run alongside a river that runs into the ocean, right underneath the highway. Trucks would drive on the highway, and I’d chase them down below on the beach. That was the best. Tod called that place “Strider Beach, where the trucks are just out of reach.” That still makes me chuckle.

Now the memory is one thing I dwell on when I’m sad or stressed. I just remember running there, on the sand, as fast as the truck up above, and then popping into the water after to cool off.

Thanks for asking. It was nice to have an excuse to revisit that particular memory.

Tired? Discouraged? Want to share a nice memory that acts as a solvent on stress? Why not share it all with our advice columnist? Just email [email protected].